


Take Me As I Am

by sealdog



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Jack/Rhys/Tim for one chapter, M/M, Mistaken Identity, aka everybody is dumb as fuck, romantic comedy of errors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-11 14:37:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12937380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sealdog/pseuds/sealdog
Summary: When Rhys finally pulls back from the kiss, his eyes are bright, and he’s grinning at Jack, hair flopping over his forehead again. “What’s your name?”“What?” Jack asks, distracted by the feel of Rhys’ waist under his hands. “Jack, duh.”“No, I meant like yourname.” Rhys rolls his eyes. “So I know who to ask for when I book my next appointment.”Jack stares at him. This is...probably a really bad idea.“John,” Jack says eventually. “Ask for John.”---Helios has a Pleasure Palace where you can book sessions with a Handsome Jack doppelganger for fun times. Rhys is a regular. Jack is there for business. Mistaken identity shenanigans and unwieldy feelings ensue. Also lots of sex, that too.





	1. Chapter 1 - Rhys

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lasciel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasciel/gifts).



> Done for the [2017 Borderlands Big Bang](https://borderlandsbigbang.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Artist tumblrs are linked beneath their respective art(s). Please check the artists out they're all super rad :D
> 
> PrincessTriton: [tumblr](http://princess-triton.tumblr.com/)/[ao3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessTriton/pseuds/PrincessTriton)  
> xcorajuda: [tumblr](http://xcorajuda.tumblr.com/)/[ao3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/corajuda/pseuds/corajuda)  
> Rory: [tumblr](http://magpie-s-nest.tumblr.com/)/[ao3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rory/pseuds/Rory)
> 
> Thank you erica and anya for beta-ing and finding all my terrible typos. Also thank u to the same people + lego and michelle for being my fellow sailors on this salty sea.
> 
> This fic is also a super belated thank you gift for ledgem. Sorry it's so late buddy, I hope the porn makes up for it :^)

art by [Princess-triton](http://princess-triton.tumblr.com/)

Rhys taps his card rapidly against the desk, eyeing his screen speculatively. It’s incredibly self-indulgent, and he _knows_ he shouldn’t do it, because his budget is tight enough as it is, but…

But today has been complete shit, that’s what. A _shit_ day on top of an already shitty week, and all he really wants to do is to treat himself to something nice, because otherwise he might combust. Or set his desk on fire.

Or, better yet, set Vasquez on fire.

Rhys’ screen pings with the sound of an incoming video, drawing his attention away from contemplating how flammable Vasquez’s greasy hair would be. He lifts his eyes, half-hoping it’s good news. Maybe it’s Henderson, calling to let Rhys know the M4G1k project is getting reassigned, or better yet, cancelled entirely.

The hope turns sour, curdling in the bottom of his stomach, when Vasquez’s smug face pops up instead.

“Rhys! How’s the work on the M4G1K project going? Remember, Henderson wants those files all neat and ready on his desk by Friday morning. Me? I’ve got my stuff handed in already.” Vasquez dusts off his tie, stupid metal pinky finger glinting ostentatiously. “If you want to be Henderson’s favourite, you’re going to have to step up to my level, Rhys my boy. Just a bit of _friendly_ advice.”

“Advice from you? Thanks, but no thanks.” Rolling his eyes, Rhys reaches forward, flipping Vasquez off as he goes to cut the call short.

As much as he hates it, Vasquez is right. The only way to continue sliding his way into Henderson’s good graces is to keep turning in quality work ahead of schedule. The same schedule he’s currently procrastinating on while he considers treating himself.

Still, Vasquez being right doesn’t mean Rhys has to listen to his smarmy voice.

Before he can close the video however, Vasquez clears his throat, and leans forward with a smug, conspiratorial smile.

“Oh, before I forget, Rhys. I hear congratulations are in order. Reaching gold tier membership at the Helios Pleasure Palace? Not everybody is a dedicated enough fan of Handsome Jack to reach such an exclusive tier. Very admirable of you.”

Rhys frowns, hand hovering over the exit button. Sure, he’d recently been upgraded to gold membership - the golden card in his hand had taken him _months_ to work his way towards - but...why was Vasquez--?

As he’s about to open his mouth and ask, Vasquez leans back, and casually brings his hand up to tap at the side of his face with something. In his hand, there’s a sleek, matte black card with a familiar mask embossed on it, the glitter of the gold foil something Rhys has only ever been able to pine for from afar. How the _fuck_.

Vasquez sighs, and draws the card down from his jaw to his lips, pressing an absent kiss to it, exaggerated and almost grotesque. Rhys can’t help the revolted shudder that runs through him at the sight of Vasquez’s lips puckering, even as his eyes are fixed greedily on the card.

“What? Oh, this?” Vasquez obnoxiously pretends to notice his card for the first time. “You won’t believe how _nice_ the platinum membership card feels, Rhys. They say that Handsome Jack himself touches the cards before they send it out. Just holding it makes me feel like I’m close to Jack.” He gives the camera a sly look. “Not that you would know, would you? Being in gold tier and all.”

Rhys’ hand clenches on his golden card, with the sleek black HJ initials on it that he’d been so proud of only ten minutes ago. It takes an effort for him to unclench his hand before he bends the card, metal fingers oddly unresponsive.

“Well, I should get back to work. Gotta make sure shmucks like you don’t overtake me as Henderson’s favourite, after all. And you know what? I think I’ll reward myself with a day off tomorrow. Give that platinum-exclusive day-long session a try. I’ll make sure to let you know how it goes.”

With a wink and one last (obnoxious) kiss to his card, Vasquez ends the call. 

Rhys stares at the half-finished spreadsheet left on his screen, and then at the golden card in his hand, and scowls.

The card glints dully in the fluorescent light of his office cubicle, impassive and smooth. Sighing, Rhys sets it down, wiping it free of smudges carefully. It had taken him months to get gold membership, and he’d been so proud of it, so ready to flaunt the subtle gold sheen. Now, though, with the memory of Vasquez’s platinum card still burning fresh in his mind, his own gold card feels...paltry.

Making a frustrated noise, he runs his hands through his hair, then carefully smooths it back into place, staring at his card all the while. Now, more than ever, he wants to use his brand new (but _not platinum_ ) gold-membership to book himself a session at the Pleasure Palace. His misgivings from earlier fade out as he thinks it over, trying to convince himself.

Nothing better for the end of a stressful day than to spend two hours with the closest thing he’ll ever get to Handsome Jack himself. And now that he has gold membership, he doesn’t even have to wait two weeks for a session. What better way to test out his new gold membership privileges than to book a session right this evening?

A small, calculating part of him points out that if he wants to accelerate his plans to attain platinum membership, every session booked will only bring him closer. Never mind the fact that he’d have to squeeze tighter on other areas of his budget to make up for it.

The thrill of anticipation in his gut already beginning to build, Rhys picks up his ECHOcomm, and dials the number for the Helios Pleasure Palace.

\---

By the time Rhys gets to the Pleasure Palace, whatever anticipation had kept him working through the rest of the day has turned into a muddled mess in his mind. Between the piling assignments and the sudden interruption of not one but _two_ fire drills in the afternoon, he’d ended up leaving a lot later than he’d planned to.

The receptionist gives him a cool glance when he bursts into the lobby, and Rhys swallows down his panting breaths as best as he can.

“Ha-hey. Um. I have an appointment?”

She gives him a discreetly dubious look, but beckons him over anyway.

“Membership card, please?”

“Here.” Rhys absolutely doesn’t fumble the card as he pulls it out of his wallet and hands it to her over the counter.

“Ah. Welcome, Mr. Albrich.” The receptionist gives him a thin smile, and slides his card onto the counter between them. “Your appointment will be in room 213 today, as your usual room is unavailable. We hope you enjoy your Handsome Jack Experience.”

Relieved, Rhys shoves his wallet back into his satchel, and takes the card from the counter, barely hearing what she’s said in his haze of anticipation. “Thanks! I’ll show myself up, don’t wanna keep him waiting.”

The receptionist thaws a little at that, and gives him another smile, small, but more genuine than the previous. “Enjoy yourself,” she repeats, and tilts her head towards the doorway to the left.

Rhys returns her smile, and heads in the direction pointed. Buoyed up by the familiar excitement and anticipation of being in the Pleasure Palace, he heads straight to his usual room on the fourth floor.

The door doesn’t open immediately when he taps his card on it, which is odd. Frowning at the unyielding _beep_ , he taps his card again, wondering if maybe his new card hasn’t been activated yet. The old card had worked just fine every time he’d tried it. When all that comes is another beep, followed by a series of alarmingly high-pitched beeping when he tries again, he pauses, and glares at the door.

art by [Princess-triton](http://princess-triton.tumblr.com/)

“Seriously?” He mutters under his breath. One more try, he tells himself, and then he’ll go down to the receptionist to check if his card is working right.

Rhys barely gets his card down to the reader before the door is yanked open from the inside, and he’s face to face with a scowling Handsome Jack. Or rather, a Handsome Jack double. A very convincing one, this time. 

Which isn’t to say that Tim, his favourite double, is _bad_ or anything. Far from it. But Tim has been off-world on a mission for weeks now, and the last double, whose name Rhys hadn’t bothered to remember, had been...well. Unsatisfactory, to say the least.

“What.” Jack snaps flatly, heavy brows drawn together as he glares at Rhys.

“Whoa.” Rhys blinks, taken aback. “Wow, you’ve got the character down _perfect_.”

“What. Do you want.” Jack repeats, glare only intensifying.

Shivering in delight, Rhys places his left hand on Jack’s chest, and shoves him into the room. There’s no resistance, as Jack stumbles back, eyes wide. “Man, you’re _good_ ,” Rhys says, kicking the door shut behind him as he flings his satchel to the side, and begins to unbutton his shirt. “The guy they gave me last time had a stutter. Don’t get me wrong, it was cute, _he_ was cute, I mean, you all are, but Handsome Jack? Stuttering? Talk about breaking the immersion.”

He snorts, and pulls his shirt off the rest of the way. When he glances up, Jack has a gun and a matching steely glare trained on him

“Oh my god, that is the coolest prop ever.” Rhys breathes out, pausing from where he’s unbuckling his trousers. This is new. He sends up a thankful prayer for his gold membership. “Are you going to hold it to my head and threaten to blow me out of an airlock?”

Jack shuts his mouth from where it’d opened, and gives Rhys an incredibly blank stare. Which seems a bit unprofessional, if Rhys is being frank. With the gun prop and the really good voice impression, he’d kind of been expecting more.

Rhys frowns, and steps forward to take ahold of the gun. Not to take it away from Jack or anything, but just to touch it. He runs two fingers along the barrel, admiring the heft and solid weight of it. It feels as real as it looks, and he sends up another thankful prayer for gold membership privileges.

He curls his left hand around Jack’s wrist, and guides him to hold the gun against Rhys’ neck.

“Okay, I’ve had the worst day ever at work, so if you could please.” Rhys closes his eyes, and leans into the gun a little. He feels Jack’s wrist flex a little in his grip. “Let’s get things started. Tell me to strip and get to my knees for you or something. C’mon, dude. Don’t just stand there uselessly.”

There’s no warning before he feels a large hand clamp tight around his throat. Surprised, he opens his eyes. The double seems to have gotten over whatever was bugging him before, because the Jack-face is back in full effect, all surprise gone. His eyes are narrowed at Rhys, just like in all the propaganda holovids, and Rhys almost misses what he’s saying because he’s so distracted by how good this double’s impression is.

“ _Useless_?” Jack snarls, hand tightening painfully around Rhys’ neck.

Moaning, Rhys leans forward, and lets his eyes slide shut again. He’s so ready for this. “Ohhh yeah, that’s it.”

The grip around his neck spasms a little bit.

“I’ll show you _useless_ , you little piece of shit.”

Rhys’ eyes fly open as he gets shoved roughly down to his knees. He stumbles, trying to catch his balance, but then there’s a fist in his hair, dragging painfully at the strands and pulling him to straighten up faster than he physically can.

“Mouth.” Jack snaps out the order, other hand holding the gun to Rhys’ temple.

Rhys’ mouth drops open immediately, a shock of arousal coursing through his body at the anger and violence in Jack’s tone.

Jack’s grip in his hair is tight, his gun cold and hard against Rhys’ face as it slides down his cheek, and Rhys is _loving this_.

“You’re going to suck me off, and you better do a friggin’ good job of it, because if that pretty little mouth of yours is only good for mouthing off, I’m going to see if I can’t make it any prettier.” The gun against his cheek taps once, twice, in a fairly clear statement of intent.

Rhys nods frantically, already reaching up to undo the zipper of Jack’s jeans.

“Uh uh, kiddo. No hands. No touching yourself either.” Jack’s hand in Rhys’ hair tightens, and Rhys lets out a moan at the delicious tug of pain in his scalp. “Now, show me what you can do.”


	2. Chapter 2 - Jack

Sometimes the whole fan worship thing can get...kinda creepy.

Very creepy, Jack amends, as he stares up at his own face, bigger than life and hanging over the back of the reception area. It’s a good face, he’s not denying that.

“Sir, if you’ll come this way please?” The receptionist gestures towards a door on the left. Setting his shoulders and turning away from his own face, Jack stands up, and follows her through the door.

She leads him through a long, warmly lit corridor. There are doors on either side, most of them closed, but as Jack goes by, he sees a few that are open, and catches glimpses of the varied, exotic, and frankly _bizarre_ rooms they lead to. There’s a room that looks like it came out from an old-timey holovid, with marble columns and low beds and gold-and-marble statues everywhere. Another room bears a striking resemblance to a bandit hovel down on Pandora. One, worryingly enough, looks like Jack’s office.

They go past it before Jack can take a closer look.

Eventually, they come to a smaller, more discreet door, set away from the others. The receptionist opens it, and steps back to let Jack through.

“Ms. Langdon will be with you shortly,” she says, and blushes when Jack gives her a wink as he strides by.

The door closes behind him, leaving him alone in a room that looks like a normal office. It’s a relief, after the dizzying variety of rooms he’s just walked past. There’s a desk, and some bookshelves, and a window that looks out over the Entertainment District of Helios, but that’s it.

It’s not exactly what he thought the office of Genevra Langdon, president of the Helios’ Pleasure Palace, would look like.

_Helios’ Pleasure Palace_ , the place billed itself. _Come experience the future of pleasure._

Based on all of Nisha’s outlandish stories about sex-bots, the orgy rooms, and the notoriously popular “Handsome Jack Experience”, Jack had been expecting the offices of the genius deviant behind the entire enterprise to be a little more...colourful. More like the rooms he’d just walked past.

He moves to sit behind the only desk in the room, and looks around for any sort of personal touch on the desk. There aren’t that many. A mug with a truly hideous paisley print on it, a fountain pen on the desk that’s definitely not standard Hyperion issue, and a bottle of caffeine pills next to the desk’s screen. Everything else is sleek chrome and black; classy, but entirely without personality.

The usual Hyperion posters are in place though, hanging on the wall in direct eyeline of where Jack’s sitting at the desk.

He eyes a poster of his own face, a smaller twin to the one in the reception area. It’s a good photo, one that makes him look really imposing and authoritative. He remembers the photoshoot it came from, mostly because of the photographer, who had a pair of legs that looked amazing, and had felt even better wrapped around Jack’s waist after the shoot. Jack smiles fondly at the memory, but it fades as he continues to stare at the poster.

The whole _pay to have sex with a body double of Handsome Jack_ thing isn’t really something Jack thinks about a lot. Sure, it’s kinda strange, but who can blame his fans? He’s handsome, charismatic, and has spent a frigging _fortune_ on advertising Handsome Jack as the man you want, and the man you want to _be_. People wanting to bang him is just the logical conclusion to a series of carefully crafted propaganda videos and good PR.

In a happier world, Jack himself could reap all the benefits of being the sexiest, most marketable man alive. As it is, his body doubles are the lucky bastards getting to bang all the thirsty Jack-fans out there.

Or, well, maybe not so lucky. Some of the fans can get _weird_.

Still though, those fans are willing to pay a not insignificant amount of money for the experience. Business at the Helios Pleasure Palace is booming. Beyond booming, perhaps. Is there a word bigger than booming? Whatever it is, business at the Pleasure Palace is it. And booming business is Jack’s second favourite kind of booming, after the explosives kind.

“Sir?”

Jack’s musings are interrupted by the sound of the door opening, and an unfamiliar voice. The woman who enters is short, plump, and _nothing_ like how he’d imagined the president of the Helios Pleasure Palace would look like.

“A pleasure to meet you in person, sir. I’m Genevra Langdon.” She steps forward briskly, extending a small, chubby hand out to Jack across the table. “Thank you coming down today.”

“No problem,” Jack says, automatically reaching out to return the handshake. Seriously, he’d been expecting some kind of dominatrix to rival Nisha, or perhaps even a sensual, matronly woman, like the madames in all those burlesque pornos. This Genevra Langdon, with her serious, round face and a handshake that leaves Jack’s hand numb for all its diminutive size, is _nothing_ like he’d pictured her to be. “I like to check in personally on the businesses in Helios every once in awhile, see how _you_ guys are doing. And I hear you guys have been doing very well.”

“Of course,” Langdon takes a seat at one of the chairs on the other side of the desk, seemingly unfazed by Jack’s presence in her seat, or Jack’s scrutiny of her. She reaches out, with a murmured _pardon me_ , and switches the desk’s screen on, turning it so they can both see.

As it starts scrolling through charts and tables, she turns to Jack with a smile, a glinting one that suddenly makes Jack think she might not be all that different from Nisha after all, and says, “With the contracts you’ve granted us, we’ve had a pretty exclusive hold on this particular market in Helios. Let me go through the numbers with you.”

\---

A few hours later, Jack finds himself alone in one of the Pleasure Palace’s rooms, staring out the window and at Helios’ skyline. Beyond the maze of closely packed buildings in the Entertainment District, he can see the inky darkness of space, and beyond _that_ , the muddy brown shithole that is Pandora.

Over the past few hours, he’d listened to Genevra Langdon talk about how ridiculously profitable sex was, enough to make him send a quick note to his admin to research the stock prices of the Pleasure Palace, and then gone on a tour of the facilities.

It turns out that there are three _floors_ of orgy rooms. Three whole floors dedicated to massive, sprawling rooms filled with all sorts of sexual accoutrements. There was also a huge space, taking up two floors, that let clients simulate zero-gravity sex. And a room that was meant to mimic a bandit hideout on Sanctuary. Jack’s more than a little impressed, and very intrigued.

The room that had looked _uncannily_ like his office, he’s a little more ambivalent about.

This room though, is just one of the normal rooms. Langdon, who’d turned out to have a surprisingly dry sense of humour beneath the corporate shark smile, had left him here to go take care of some sudden emergency mixup with the sauna and tundra rooms, with a reassurance that the room was free till tomorrow, and that he was welcome to use it for his own purposes.

“Perhaps you’d like to try one of the Handsome Jack Experiences,” she’d said, with a wry smile on her face. “See what all the fuss is about.”

“Does Timothy do those?” Jack had asked, curious despite himself. He knew Tim was currently off-world, tracking down an Atlas colony on Promethea, but he’d had the vague memory of Tim mentioning the Pleasure Palace at some point.

Her eyebrows had shot up at that. “Your first double? Not recently, that I recall. He’s off-Helios right now. Even when he’s back though, he only goes for sessions with a few select clients. He’s a very picky boy, that one.”

Jack snorts, remembering the half-exasperated, half-fond expression on Langdon’s face as she’d talked about Tim. For some reason, his first double seem to elicit this kind of reaction in women a lot. Hell, even Nisha is fond of the kid, and she’d traded in all her maternal instincts for a leather coat years ago. Though Jack chalks that up to them having worked together for months more than anything.

So now Jack’s standing here, looking out at his space station from a room in a freaking _Pleasure Palace_ where people pay to have sex with other people who look like him. It’s a strange feeling, but one that Jack’s kind of enjoying.

That is, until a sudden rattling at the door jars him out of his self-congratulatory mood.

art by [Princess-triton](http://princess-triton.tumblr.com/)

Frowning, Jack turns to face the source of the noise, wondering if Langdon’s back. The door doesn’t open though, and there’s a petulant-sounding _beep_ before it rattles again, still not opening.

“What the hell,” Jack mutters, stepping past the ridiculously huge bed in the center of the room to get to the door. As he draws closer, it lets out a multitude of beeps, higher pitched and more urgent than before. Hackles raised, Jack places a hand on his gun, and flings the door open, eyes narrowed in a glare at whoever’s out there.

Whoever’s out there turns out to be a tall, slim man, with wide, mismatched eyes and the dumbest frigging expression Jack has ever seen.

“What,” Jack asks, more a statement than a question, as he looks the man over. Maybe he was a receptionist, come to tell Jack that they actually needed the room after all. Well if so, he can stuff it, because the bedsheets are apparently 7000 thread count, and Jack already has plans to try out the multi-jet tub in the bathroom.

art by [Princess-triton](http://princess-triton.tumblr.com/)

“Whoa,” the man breathes out, blinking at Jack as if stupefied. “Wow, you’ve got the character down _perfect_.”

The hell?

Jack scowls even harder. Who the hell is this shmuck, and what does he mean, _character_? Clearly not a receptionist, at least.

“What. Do you want,” Jack snaps out, patience already wearing thin.

To his astoundment, instead of cowering or, better yet, backing away with an apology, the idiot in the doorway reaches out and shoves Jack back into the room. Too surprised to give him the punch in the face that he deserves, Jack stumbles back, and watches in frozen shock as the man proceeds to kick the door shut behind him. He steps closer, towards Jack, hands going up to unbutton his shirt, and Jack’s mind kind of blanks for a moment in sheer confusion.

“Man, you’re _good_. The guy they gave me last time had a stutter. Don’t get me wrong, it was cute, _he_ was cute, I mean, you all are, but Handsome Jack? Stuttering?” The man snorts, a dismissive look crossing his face. “Talk about breaking the immersion.”

None of the words the man is saying are making sense, let alone an explanation for why the man is pulling his shirt off. When Jack pinches himself to check though, the sharp pain proves that he’s not dreaming. Gone crazy, maybe, but definitely not dreaming.

Insulted by the familiarity with which he’d been shoved, and confused and annoyed by the entire situation, Jack pulls his gun out of its holster and trains it on the man, waiting for him to finish pulling his shirt off so Jack can hold the gun to his head and demand some _proper_ answers.

Jack expects the man to drop whatever pretense he had the moment the gun comes out, but to his continued bemusement, the man...doesn’t. Instead, when he looks up and sees the gun, he immediately stops what he’s doing (unbuckling his trousers, a mildly distressed part of Jack notes), and steps forward with wide, _excited_ eyes.

“Oh my god, that is the coolest prop ever. Are you going to hold it to my head and threaten to blow me out of an airlock?” The man stares at the gun, and his tongue honest to god darts out to lick his lips.

The only thing keeping Jack’s hand steady and the gun trained on the bizarre, confusing man is years of training.

Jack opens his mouth, and then closes it again, surprise and bemusement rendering him dumb. Before he can gather himself, the man reaches out, actually reaches out, and touches the gun, lips parted in a sigh and eyes fixed greedily on the weapon. The way his fingers run over the barrel of the gun is vaguely erotic, Jack notes uncomfortably.

It’s not the only thing he notes. Now that the man is shirtless, Jack can see intriguing tattoos, spreading out over the man’s chest and left arm, inky blue across pale skin a contrast to the robotic right arm in Hyperion yellow.

Without the dumb expression on his face, the man is...kind of attractive. Jack glances down, at where the half-unbuckled belt on the man’s trousers leads down to long, _long_ legs, and amends his assessment to _very attractive_.

Before he can get any further along that train of thought though, the man’s fingers trail up, past the barrel of the gun, and go to wrap around Jack’s wrist.

Jack’s about to yank the gun and his hand out of the man’s grip, when to his surprise ( _again_ ), the man pulls the gun forward with his grip on Jack’s hand. Jack doesn’t stop him, and the muzzle comes to rest against the man’s neck. There’s another tattoo there, black, solid lines instead of blue this time, and it frames the gun like some kind of bizarre target.

“Okay. I’ve had like, the worst day ever at work, so if you please...let’s get things started.” The man closes his eyes, and actually _leans_ into the gun a little. The loaded gun. With the very real bullets. That Jack is currently pressing into his _neck_. “Tell me to strip and get to my knees for you or something,” the man continues, sounding as if he thinks _Jack_ is the idiot here. “C’mon, dude. Don’t just stand there uselessly.”

Jack finds himself distracted from the man’s bizarre _everything_ by that last sentence.

“ _Useless_?” He snarls, reaching out with his other hand to grab the idiot by his skinny neck. Who the hell does this guy think he is? Jack tightens his grip, palm easily spanning the man’s slim throat, and clicks the safety of his gun off. He watches as the man’s eyes open, surprise making them wide as he stares up at Jack’s face. Maybe _now_ he’ll give up whatever stupid farce this is.

Jack’s caught entirely off guard when the man, instead of panicking, _moans_. His lips part, more flushed now than they’d been earlier, just like how his cheeks are beginning to stain pink. He leans into Jack’s hands, tongue darting out to brush against his reddening lips.

“Ohhh yeah, that’s it,” the man mumbles, eyes sliding shut.

What. The _hell_. Jack glares at the man in his grip, kind of confused, but also getting distracted by the enticing flush he can see spreading down the man’s neck and tattooed chest. Does he think--

Oh. _Oh_.

An idiot after all.

Jack almost wants to laugh at the incredulity of it all. This man, clearly a client here for the frigging Handsome Jack Experience, has somehow landed himself the real deal. There’s a word for that, something Tim would no doubt know because he’s a nerd. Right now though, all Jack can think of is that he has an attractive man in front of him who clearly wants him, or an approximation of him, a big, fancy bed in a room that he has all to himself for the night, and the beginnings of a hard-on in his pants.

“I’ll show you _useless_ , you little piece of shit,” Jack says, and shoves the man down to his knees. The man doesn’t resist, just drops down with a breathless _oof_ , and stares up at Jack with wide eyes. Jack grabs a handful of the man’s hair, and slides his gun down to press against the man’s cheek.

“Mouth.”

At Jack’s order, the man’s expression shifts, anticipation and arousal darkening his eyes as his mouth drops open obediently, no hesitation whatsoever. Good. 

“You’re going to suck me off, and you better do a damn good job of it, because if that pretty mouth of yours is only good for talking shit, I’ve got some ideas for making it even prettier.” He taps the muzzle of his gun against the man’s cheek, waiting for acknowledgement. To his amused gratification, the man nods immediately, hands coming up to Jack’s trousers. It pleases Jack to no end to tighten his grip in the man’s hair even more, and watch him wince and back off.

“Uh uh, kiddo,” Jack says. “No hands. No touching yourself either. Now, show me what you can do.”

He lets go of the man’s hair, but keeps the gun trained on his cheek. Not that he needs it. The man seems perfectly willing to fumble at Jack’s zipper with his mouth, hands placed obediently in his lap. Jack’s pretty sure that the sensation of holding a metal zipper between your teeth is a pretty unpleasant one, let alone using your teeth to pull the zipper down, but the man seems really into it, eyes sliding shut and a thready whine escaping between his teeth as he pulls the zipper down.

In a concession to convenience, Jack lends a helping hand, pulling his dick out for the man, who, instead of going right to sucking, starts mouthing at it, pressing open mouthed kisses on the slowly hardening shaft, leaving hot, wet trails as he goes. As Jack watches, the man tilts his head, nudging at the gun as he looks up and makes eye contact with Jack, eyes dark and coy.

“Cute,” Jack says, even as he runs the muzzle of the gun through the man’s hair, combing through it and messing up the carefully gelled lines. “Get on with it.”

The man obliges, but not without placing one last kiss at the base of Jack’s cock. He shifts back, adjusting his kneeling position, and moves to catch the head of Jack’s cock in his mouth.

It makes for a pretty funny sight, kind of like fishing, but with his dick as some kind of bizarre lure, and Jack would be laughing, if it weren’t for the fact that the sight is also somehow really fucking hot.

The man’s lips are pink and stretched around the head of Jack’s cock as he sucks, and his eyes are nearly crossed, fixed as they are on Jack’s cock in a squint of concentration. Wet, sloppy noises of the man’s mouth on his dick make a counterpoint to Jack’s heavy breathing, and the occasional muffled moan from the man, who seems to be _really_ into it. When Jack clicks the safety back on and puts the gun back into its holder, the man actually pauses to look up and give Jack a disappointed look, practically pouting around the head of Jack’s cock in his mouth.

“Don’t want to blow your pretty head off. Not yet, anyway,” Jack says, feeling oddly compelled to reassure him. Which is stupid, because first of all, who needs reassurance that a _gun_ will be coming back into play later during sex? And second, _Jack’s_ the one in charge here. Not this...lucky fanboy. Who probably has a name, now that Jack thinks about it.

“Hey. You. What’s your name, kiddo?” Jack asks, running his fingers through the man’s fringe.

The man pulls off Jack’s dick with a wet _pop_ , and gives Jack a blank look.

“Wait, is this part of a new roleplay thing? Because all the other times, the Jacks already knew my name, since it’s there in my membership and everything.”

“Well, if it’s roleplay, you’ve gone and ruined the immersion now, haven’t you,” Jack says, raising his eyebrows at the man.

“Oh!” The man winces. “Sorry, right. Uh, can we try that again?”

Rolling his eyes, Jack reaches down, and cups the man’s cheeks in his hands.

“What’s your name, cupcake?” Jack asks, keeping his voice very pleasant. “So I have something to call you while you choke on my dick.”

The man flushes even harder at that, cheeks and ears pink as he stares up at Jack, breath hitching.

“R-Rhys. Sir.” He practically stutters in his haste to get the words out. “My name’s Rhys. But you can call me whatever you want.”

“Rhys, eh.” Jack strokes his thumbs along the man’s cheeks, noting absently that they’re really soft, with only the faintest hint of stubble. “So, _Rhys_. How are your deepthroating skills?”

\---

It turns out that Rhys can’t deepthroat, but his attempts are admirably enthusiastic, and he brings that same enthusiasm to getting dicked. It more than makes up for his lack of deepthroating skills, in Jack’s books.

That, and Rhys’ _expressions_.

Rhys’ face is incredibly expressive, whether he’s mouthing at Jack’s cock and balls, or moaning as Jack fingers him open. He’s most expressive when he comes though. Jack watches, unable to tear his eyes away, as Rhys squirms beneath him, both hands flung out and grasping uselessly at the sheets, chest red and heaving as he gasps out Jack’s name like a mantra. His eyes are glazed and teary, mouth a reddened mess with Jack’s precome streaked and drying across his face, and he looks more blissed out than anybody Jack has ever seen without the aid of drugs.

It’s...intriguing, and Jack finds himself thinking about Rhys’ orgasm face, long after they’ve both come, and are both sprawled out on the bed in a sweaty, tangled mess.

“Damn.” Rhys’ voice breaks into Jack’s thoughts.

With some effort, Jack rolls onto his side, and eyes Rhys quizzically. Rhys turns his head to face Jack, something dopey in his expression.

“That. Was the best session I’ve ever had,” Rhys says, still breathless and flushed from his orgasm. His hair is a sweaty mess, brown curls plastered to his forehead in a way that makes Jack want to run his hands through them. Rhys gives Jack a smile, small and oddly sweet. “God, gold-tier membership is another thing entirely, holy crap.”

“...Uhhuh,” Jack says slowly. “Right.”

“No, really! I dunno if you know the other Jack doubles, but like, most of them?” Rhys wrinkles his nose. There’s a streak of drying come on it, which Jack decides not to tell him about, because it looks hilarious. “They don’t _feel_ like Handsome Jack, yunno? Tim’s close, I don’t know if you know him, but he’s pretty cool. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still great, but damn…”

He gives Jack a leering once-over, and the hunger in his appreciative gaze is very flattering.

“They’ve got nothing on you. Seriously. I thought Tim was good, but _damn_. Man, someday when I can afford it, I’m gonna have to book both you and him together for one of those Double Trouble sessions. I’ll go broke, but it’ll be so worth it.”

Jack eyes Rhys’ dreamy expression and snorts despite himself. “Double Trouble, really?”

“Yeah!” Rhys sits up, and runs his hands through his hair. The end result is slightly neater, but still very clearly sex-hair. “Have you ever done one of those?”

“Nope.” Jack pops the ‘p’, and opens his mouth to continue, ready to spring the truth on Rhys. Would Rhys be the type to faint? Probably not, but Jack finds himself looking forward to Rhys’ reaction anyway.

Before he can say anything though, Rhys yelps, and scrambles out of bed, gangly limbs going everywhere. Jack ducks to avoid a skinny elbow. He makes it, just barely.

“Oh shit, I’m gonna be so late to catch the last shuttle. Crap! Why didn’t the room say anything about the time being up?” Rhys’ voice carries as he went around the room, hopping on one leg and then the other as he tries to put on his trousers and button his shirt at the same time.

Jack, left alone in the bed, closes his mouth slowly, and stares.

“Okay, I gotta run, but--” Rhys pops up next to the bed, and bends down for a kiss. Jack blinks, taken aback, but returns it automatically, eyes sliding shut as he leans in to get a better angle. The kiss is short, and when Rhys pulls back, Jack finds himself reaching out to pull him back into another.

“Mm, okay no, I gotta go.” Rhys places a hand on Jack’s chest to hold him off, even as he’s ducking back in for another kiss. And another. And then another. His mouth tastes like come and Jack’s dick, and he kisses like Jack’s the best thing he’s ever kissed, even though Jack’s pretty sure his own mouth doesn’t taste all that much better.

When Rhys finally pulls back, his eyes are bright, and he’s grinning at Jack, hair flopping over his forehead again. “What’s your name?”

“What?” Jack asks, distracted by the feel of Rhys’ waist under his hands. “Jack, duh.”

“No, I meant like your _name_.” Rhys rolls his eyes. “So I know who to ask for when I book my next appointment.”

Jack stares at him. This is...probably a really bad idea.

“John,” Jack says eventually. “Ask for John.”


	3. Chapter 3 - Rhys

Rhys tries to set his alarm to mute and _shut the fuck up_ before he realises that the obnoxious chirping isn’t coming from the alarm in his ECHOeye, but from his ECHOcomm instead. Groaning, he rolls over, thinking to reach for where it lies on the floor next to his bed. Instead, what he gets is a faceful of air, and then solid wood, as he rolls off and hits his bedroom floor with an undignified _thump_.

“...Oh my god, _ughhhh_.”

Getting up from the floor in his groggy state takes a few minutes, and by then, his ECHOcomm is no longer chirping. Goddamn it. He squints through bleary eyes at the screen, jabs at it with clumsy fingers as he wonders aloud what cruel bastard could be calling, so early on a weekend. Before he has to comprehend the squiggles on the screen, the ECHOcomm starts chirping again. He answers the call immediately.

“Whaddya _want_?”

“Did you just wake up?”

Rhys’ frown lightens up a little at the familiar voice of his roommate.

“Oh, hey Vaughn. And yes, dude. It’s the weekend.” Rhys flops back onto his bed, and stares up at his ceiling as he talks, eyes already half-closing as he seriously contemplates going back to bed. “Why are you calling me? Are you out? Buy me back breakfast, I’ll love you.”

“Okay first of all, it’s nearly noon. I’ve been at the gym for like an hour and a half now, like any normal person would be.” Rhys scoffs over Vaughn’s words, and nearly misses the next sentence. “Second, we’re supposed to go try out that brunch place Yvette’s been eyeing, remember? Uh, what’s the name. Cornfield.”

“Cornflower,” Rhys corrects automatically, as his brain tries to catch up. “Oh, shit. That’s today?”

“Yes? Uh, earth to Rhys. Did you forget?”

“Um.” Rhys sits up and picks his arm up from the bedside stand, attaching it before bringing up his budgeting app. “Uhh. How much was this place again?”

He eyes the red line in his budget, where the cost of that impulse-booked session at the Pleasure Palace stares accusingly at him. God, that had been so worth it, but…

“Yvette said it was in the 50 credits range. Why? You broke?” Vaughn sounds exasperated. “Rhys, how many times have I told you to start budgeting properly?”

“I do!” Rhys says indignantly. “I’m looking at that app thing you recommended right now, and it’s the one telling me that I shouldn’t be going out for a 50 credit meal if I wanna stay within budget this week.”

“Oh. Damn. That sucks, dude.” Vaughn makes a sympathetic noise.

“...Okay, it might or might not be because I booked another session at the PP the other day.”

“ _Really_?” Vaughn squawks. “Again?!”

“Listen.” Rhys pauses, and tries to come up with an explanation that won’t sound terrible.

Vaughn’s voice is very dry. “I’m listening.”

“...I don’t really have an excuse. But it was totally worth it, okay!”

Rhys can practically hear the eyeroll in Vaughn’s groan. “You are the _worst_. The absolute worst. Okay, I’ll spot you for today’s brunch--”

“ _Bro_.”

“--But you better not let Yvette find out, or she’ll want a treat as well, and she still hasn’t paid me back for the last four times. Also, help me do my laundry.”

“Done.” Rhys leaps off the bed, entirely awake now at the promise of free, fancy food. “Meet you at the station in twenty? ‘Vette’s going there straight from Jenna’s right?”

“Yep. If you’re late, I’m withdrawing my treat. And seriously though, do we need to hold an intervention?”

“Huh?” Rhys says, distracted as he digs through his laundry for a clean set of clothes. Well, he’ll take semi-clean, in a pinch. Maybe he’ll do his laundry after doing Vaughn’s. “Intervention? For Yvette’s constantly staying at her girlfriend’s? I dunno man, I think it’s just puppy--”

“ _No_ , dumbass. For you! And those Jack-off sessions!”

“Okay buddy, first of all, I know you know they’re called the Handsome Jack Experience, and second of all, _no_. It’s all totally under control. I have more self-control than that, have some faith in me.” Rhys heads into the bathroom, taking his ECHOcomm and clothes with him. He switches the light on, and is greeted by his own mirror image. Scowling at his bedhead, he leans forward to try and fix it, but gets distracted by a very large hickey on the base of his neck. Oh, right. He presses a finger to the bruise, and winces happily at the twinge, which brings back all sorts of fun memories.

“Actually, hold that thought,” Rhys says, hearing how dreamy his own voice has gotten. “Not gonna tell you the deets, because I’m a good bro like that--”

“Please don’t.”

“--But man, the new guy I had last session was phenomenal. Like, better than Tim, even. He was so _good_ , Vaughn!”

Vaughn makes a vomiting sound.

“Seriously. Phenomenal.” Rhys ignores him, and continues. “But! I’m not that dumb. According to your stupid budgeting app, I’m not gonna be booking another session for another three weeks. Or at least, if I do, I’m not gonna be able to buy any junk food for the rest of the month.”

“Uhhuh.” Vaughn says. “Snacks versus weird sex shenanigans with-- Wait. Is that- Are you brushing your teeth while on call with me? Oh my god, you are the worst. The _worst_. That is disgusting. Station! Twenty minutes! Don’t be late!”

\---

Exactly 16 days later, Rhys steadfastly does _not_ look at his budgeting app as he dials the number for the Helios Pleasure Palace.

What? If he doesn’t see the red lines, they don’t exist, right?

“Welcome to the Helios Pleasure Palace. How may I help you?” The cool, professional voice of the receptionist greets him.

“Hi. I’d like to book a Handsome Jack Experience, please.” The first time he’d said that, he’d stuttered, to his embarrassment. Now though, the words slip out easily, anticipation overriding whatever embarrassment he has.

“Certainly. Membership ID and name please?”

“GH72850A. Rhys Albrich.”

“Thank you.”

There’s a small pause, and Rhys hears tapping on the other end. He waits, distracting himself by swiping through slides for next week’s meeting for the M4G1K project.

The small pause turns into an extended one, and Rhys is about to ask if the receptionist is still there, when she clears her throat.

“Mr. Albrich?” She sounds a little strained, her voice rather less silky smooth than usual. “Would you please hold for a moment while I check session availability?”

“Sure.” Rhys sits up, frowning a little. They’d never needed to do that before. “Is there something wrong with my membership?”

“No, no.” The receptionist hastens to assure him. “We just um, need to check on something. I’ll be right back with you.”

Whatever questions Rhys might’ve had are cut off by the hold music.

“Uh. Alright then,” Rhys mumbles, confused. Should he be worried? That sounded worrying. Maybe his gold membership has a problem? God, he hopes not.

He taps listlessly through his slides, too worried about the hold music to actually pay attention to them. 

“Mr. Albrich?”

Rhys perks up. “Hi. Yes. Uh, is everything okay with my membership?”

“It’s perfectly alright, nothing to be worried about.” The receptionist clears her throat. “Would this Friday, 2200hrs work for you?”

“Oh. I was gonna ask if Thursday would work. But um…” Rhys brings up his calendar, just to check. “Yeah, Friday works. That’s kinda late though, isn’t it?”

The receptionist sighs, sounding oddly relieved, and doesn’t answer his question. Weird. “Alright. We look forward to your patronage.”

“W-wait, hold on!” Rhys says, when the receptionist sounds like she’s about ready to hang up.

“Yes?”

“I was gonna request a Jack. If that was possible. The guy from my last session? I think he said his name was John.”

“Oh, that’s taken care of already,” the receptionist says, sounding a little strangled. “Your appointment is with...John. Don’t worry.” And the line cuts off.

Very weird.

Rhys puts his ECHOcomm down, frowning. That was unusual. Still though, he can already feel the anticipation running through him. _Three more days_.

\---

Three days later, Rhys takes all the precautions he possibly can to make sure he won’t be late. He gets to the Pleasure Palace slightly more than half an hour early, and ends up having to linger at the coffee place nearby like an awkward handshake.

When he enters his assigned room, only ten minutes early, he’s the only one there. There’s no sign of John.

Rhys drops his satchel at the foot of the bed, and goes to look out the windows.

The view of Helios never fails to take his breath away. It’s buildings and people and bots and machines all crammed onto an ambitious man’s dream, and Rhys _loves_ it. Not that he’d ever admit it, especially not out loud, but sometimes it feels more like home than his home planet ever had

Beyond the immediate, closely-packed buildings of Helios’ entertainment district, he can see the central hub, where Handsome Jack’s office purportedly is. Rhys places a hand on the window, frames the circle of Helios’ hub with finger and thumb, and hums as he contemplates his dream office. Maybe someday, if he’s lucky. Stab enough backs, make enough deals, and you can climb your way to anywhere, in Hyperion, so the saying goes. If you don’t die, that is.

In the meantime though, he has this. The Handsome Jack Experience; a taste, an appetiser.

Turning his mind back to the event at hand, Rhys goes over to the bed, and flops onto it, pressing his face into the ridiculously soft and silky sheets. Someday, he tells himself, he’ll be able to get sheets like this for his own bed as well.

He rolls over onto his back, and starfishes out with a sigh, staring up at the bed’s canopy. Maybe he should’ve waited at the coffee place for a few more minutes, because waiting here on the bed is _killing_ him with anticipation.

He wonders, arousal beginning to sink into his body, what today’s session will be like. Last round had been...intense.

Rhys wriggles into a more comfortable position, settling into the mattress a bit, and smiles up at the canopy. John had been _intense_. Rhys closes his eyes, and runs his left hand down his chest, lingering at the waistband of his trousers.

_“Take it all in, there’s a good boy.”_

Rhys shivers at the memory of Jack-- _John’s_ voice. The way his large hands had cradled Rhys’ face, pressing down on the hinges of Rhys’ jaw as he’d inched his way into Rhys’ mouth, cock a warm weight, heavy on Rhys’ tongue. And then later, as John fucked him into the bed, each thrust making Rhys gasp and jerk in his tight, dominating grip--

Giving in, Rhys lets his hand slide further down, and presses just the tiniest bit on his semi-chub.

It isn’t cheating to get a headstart, right?

He lets himself think about the blowjob, of his attempts at deepthroating. It’s funny, Rhys has never really pegged himself as someone to be obsessed with giving blowjobs before. It’s not that he _dislikes_ giving them; he enjoys them well enough, but he’s always seen it as a prelude to the real fucking, like prepping with lube or something. Especially since sticking things down his throat has never been something he’d been particularly good at.

Last session though…

He thinks about the way John had looked down on him, pupils of his eyes blown wide and a flush spreading around the edges of his mask. The way John’s thighs had tensed beneath Rhys’ fingers, how it’d felt to be caged in by John’s legs, the smell of John’s arousal thick around him.

He presses down on his dick, and bites his lip down on a whimper.

“Getting started without me, pumpkin?”

There’s no warning. Rhys is taken completely by surprise as a hand wraps itself around his throat, pressing him down into the bed. His eyes fly open, and he stares up at the unmistakeable face of Handsome Jack, looking down at him. Well, his very convincing body double, anyway.

“John!” Rhys bites his lip, and feels himself flush. “I wasn’t- I was just--”

“Yeah, go on.” John grins down at Rhys from where he’s leaning over his prone form. Rhys swallows, mouth very dry. “What were you doing?”

“I was thinking of our last session,” Rhys admits, hearing the hoarseness of his anticipation. John’s eyes darken, and the hand on Rhys’ throat tightens.

“Really now,” John says, voice low.

“Y-you holding my jaw.” Rhys licks his lips, and watches as John’s eyes go almost immediately to watch. “Telling me to open up for you.”

John’s hand on Rhys’ throat slides slowly down, to press against his collarbone. His gaze is fierce on Rhys’, and Rhys can’t look away, or stop the words from spilling out.

“Your cock was so thick, so heavy, and my jaw _hurt_ , but it felt so good, I wanted to make it good for you. And then- when you fucked me. The way you held me down. I-It felt amazing, the way you filled me up. I was so full, your cock so hard in me. I thought I was going to break, but you kept going.” Rhys shivers. He looks at John, at his intense eyes, and the way he’s definitely sporting an erection, and takes a chance. “Y’know, I touched myself the next day, thinking of how hard you fucked me.”

“Yeah?” John’s fingers dig into Rhys’ chest, and Rhys can’t help the hiss of pain, even as he’s arching up and into John’s grip. “Did you finger yourself?”

Rhys nods, breath coming in shallow pants as he squirms beneath John’s gaze and touch. “In the shower. I fucked myself open, and thought of you the entire time.”

“Show me.”

John’s hand lifts off, and he goes to pull at Rhys’ belt buckle. Rhys helps him, movements made clumsy from arousal as he lifts his hips, helps John push his pants off, and then the rest of his clothes. John raises an appraising eyebrow at his blue and yellow socks, but doesn’t say anything, until Rhys is completely naked and kneeling on the bed, waiting for John’s instructions.

“Show me how you touched yourself,” John orders. He goes to drag an armchair over right next to the bed, and sits down in it heavily, legs spread wide and chin cupped in one hand as he watches Rhys with lidded eyes. “Put on a show for me, Rhysie.”

Rhys nods, shakily. John’s gaze is terrifyingly intense, and Rhys can feel his own erection twitch, just thinking about the idea of touching himself in front of that. He parts his knees a little, flushing at how it makes him feel _exposed_. John’s eyes drop to Rhys’ erection, and he smirks a little.

“You getting shy on me _now_ , kitten?”

Flushing, Rhys gives John a glare, only to drop his gaze when he realises that John’s palming himself. He bites his lip, and skates a hand down his chest, kind of wanting to linger but also really wanting to jump ahead.

“Go on. Touch yourself.” John’s words are permission and instruction all at once, and Rhys can only obey.

Rhys lets his hand slide lower, metal hand going back to steady himself against the bed as he leans back, giving John a show. He palms his dick, shivering at the sensation. His knees slide further apart as he thrusts up, shallowly, into his own hand, and he drops his head back, moaning.

“Tell me what you imagined me doing, as you touched yourself.”

Rhys feels himself flush even harder at John’s words, at the dirty promise in them, even as he’s wrapping his left hand around his dick, and starting up a slow stroke.

“I...I thought about you using my mouth.” The words come out hesitantly, barely more than a whisper. God, it’s horrifyingly, humiliatingly hot, being forced to voice out his masturbation fantasies. When he darts a glance up at John though, John gives him a slow, slow smile.

“Yeah? You do look good, with my cock in your mouth.”

The compliment sends a hot, liquid rush throughout Rhys’ body, pooling low in his groin and making him jerk up into his own grip with a gasp.

“I thought about...the way you held my head. Forced me to take more in until all I could taste, all I could smell, everything was _you_.” Rhys tightens his hand around the head of his cock as he says it. The rush of pleasure makes him whimper, and he slides his eyes shut, lips parting as he breathes raggedly.

“Eyes on me, kiddo.”

Rhys snaps his eyes back open and straightens up a little immediately. In front of him, John’s raised a booted foot, and placed it on the edge of the bed, less than a foot from Rhys’ left knee.

“Good boy,” John says, when Rhys meets his gaze. “Keep going.”

Rhys nods, biting his lip. “I wanted to do it again. See how far I could get you down my throat. I-I want you to fuck my face, just use my mouth as your fuckhole.” Rhys lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched whimper at the filthiness spilling from his own lips, but he keeps his eyes on John. The nod of approval he gets in return is dizzying, makes his cock twitch, and he takes in a shuddering breath.

“That’s cute, kiddo. I like the way you think.” John smirks, and pulls his now fully hard cock out from his pants. Rhys’ eyes drop immediately to John’s cock, and embarrassingly enough, he feels his mouth actually _water_ at the sight. John is thick and hard already, his cockhead peeking out through darker foreskin as he starts jerking himself to Rhys’ watchful gaze.

“Please…” Rhys says, hand slowing down on his own cock as he stares hungrily at John’s. “Let me suck you off. I’ll try my best to take it all in this time.”

“Mm.” John gestures Rhys forward. Rhys kind of shuffles forward on his knees, his erection bobbing unsteadily as he gets closer to the edge of the bed. At John’s gesture, Rhys clambers off the bed to stand between John’s spread legs. John’s still fully dressed, and Rhys feels even more naked in comparison, with the texture of John’s pants rough on the outside of Rhys’ thighs. The feeling is totally not helped by the way John runs a hand down Rhys’ flank, hand rough and warm on Rhys’ bare skin. “Not today. I’ve got _plans_. First, I wanna watch you open yourself up for me.”

John reaches out, turns Rhys around. A heavy hand on the small of Rhys’ back nudges him into bending over, and he catches the edge of the bed with his metal hand, heart thumping at the position he’s in. Naked, bent over in front of John. The only thing missing to make it the position of 65% of his wet dreams (okay, 80%) was Handsome Jack’s infamous office desk in front of him instead of a bed.

“Hand.” John’s voice behind him, low and demanding. Rhys reaches back with his left hand, and despite knowing what’s coming, jumps at the shock of cold lube dripping into his fingers.

John’s voice continues, “Go on, then. Show me how you want me to fuck you.”

\---

“Rhysie.” John’s voice is ragged. “Look at me, pumpkin.”

Rhys turns his head sluggishly, feeling the damp, sweaty skin of his face squeak against the glass of the window. Behind him, John’s come to a halt, and a hand comes up to frame Rhys’ throat.

“Rhys,” John says again, sounding more impatient this time.

“John...why’d you stop?” Rhys mumbles, shifting and pressing his hips back.

There’s a snort of laughter behind him, and the hand around his neck loosens. “You went quiet, kiddo. Wanted to check that I didn’t dick you to death or anything.”

Shaken out of his sex-daze by John’s ridiculous words, Rhys splutters out a laugh, and pushes himself into a more upright position. “Not like you’re doing much dicking, standing there like that.”

...It’s probably not a good idea to taunt John, but honestly? Rhys is too wound up to care.

John had made him finger himself open for _ages_ , and then, when Rhys had been all but begging to be fucked, made him spread his own cheeks open. Then he’d spent another eternity murmuring the filthiest promises to Rhys, thick fingers pulling him open and making him cry out and thrust back wantonly for the cock that John was holding back from him. Then John had _finally_ fucked him, folding him nearly in half and fucking so deep into him that Rhys thought he could die, squashed beneath John and filled up with his cock.

That had been good, made even better by how Rhys hadn’t been allowed to come throughout the entire thing. The hazy high of his prolonged arousal had made the following spanking almost too hard to bear without coming, but Rhys had done it, somehow. The expression on John’s face when Rhys had looked up, teary-eyed and said, “I haven’t come yet, like you told me not to,” had been everything Rhys had ever wanted.

(The spanking had _ostensibly_ been to punish him for starting early without John. Rhys, however, finds himself already planning to arrive early next session to do just that.)

Now though, John is fucking him again, up against the window this time, thick cock dragging at the sensitive rim of Rhys’ hole and making him cry out with every thrust, and everything is hot and perfect and sweaty. Or it _would_ be, if John would just start thrusting again.

Frustrated, Rhys turns and looks over his shoulder when John doesn’t reply. That seems to be the cue that John’s waiting for though, because the moment they make eye contact, John thrusts in, _hard_. Gasping, Rhys scrambles to catch his balance against the window as John starts up a rough, demanding pace, fucking deeper and deeper and shoving Rhys against the window with every movement of his hips.

“Ah! John-- Fuck, yes, yes, fuck me harder!” Rhys stutters out, breath pushed out of him as John continues to fuck into him, dick stretching Rhys out and shoving deeper into him with each thrust. The glass in front of Rhys is smeared from sweat and precome and god knows what else, and beyond it, Helios looks blurry, unsteady to his gaze. “Haa-ah,” Rhys moans, closing his eyes against the dizzying sight.

A hand fisted in his hair makes his eyes open, and then John’s pulling at his head, making him arch back and into a painful, biting kiss.

“Come for me, Rhysie,” John says, and bites down on Rhys’ lower lip.

Whimpering, Rhys feels his entire body tense up, and then he’s coming, crying out against John’s smug smile, hands flexing against the window as he shudders into orgasm. It seems to last forever, aided by John’s dick grinding into him, right against his prostate, and just when he thinks it’s too much, that he can’t-

“Ah, _fuck_ , Rhys--”

John’s mouth disappears from Rhys’, only to press an open mouthed kiss to Rhys’ shoulder. His thrusts get jerkier, pace losing its rhythm as he fucks into Rhys with short, imprecise thrusts.

When he comes, he bites down on Rhys’ shoulder, and the blunt pain forces another spurt of come from Rhys’ softening, spent cock.

\---

When Rhys opens his eyes an indeterminate amount of time later, he’s on the bed somehow. He squints up at the canopy of the bed, wondering when he’d moved.

“Heya cupcake.” John’s hand lands on Rhys’ chest, fingers spread out as he strokes down.

“John.” Rhys rolls his head to the side to face him, and returns John’s appraising look with a dazed smile. “Holy fuck.”

The appraising look on John’s face melts into a smug grin, and John’s hand on Rhys’ chest lifts, goes to card through Rhys’ hair. Rhys rolls over with some effort, and tilts his head to better let John pet him.

“Not yet dicked to death, eh?”

“Nope.” Rhys gives John a sly grin. “Guess you’ll have to try harder.” He winces as John’s hand tightens in his hair, but John’s smiling, so he counts it as a win. “Seriously though, John. Jack? Which do you prefer?”

John makes a face. “...Let’s stick with Jack.”

“Heh, very in character. For real though.” Rhys sighs happily. “That was seriously fucking amazing. You’re my favourite Jack.”

John snorts. “I should hope so,” he says.

“Ha! God, you’re good at getting into character.” Rhys settles himself a little more into the bed, head propped on one arm. “We’ve only got five minutes left on the clock right?”

“Uh, yeah, because _someone_ came so hard he passed out. I was planning on seeing how far we could get you in your deep throating skills, but you ruined it.” John’s hand slides down, and his thumb presses against the corner of Rhys’ mouth.

Rhys moves to catch it, sucking the thumb into his mouth and biting down on it gently. John’s eyes narrow at him, and he pulls his thumb out. He doesn’t take his hand away though, just slides his spit-slick thumb against Rhys’ lower lip.

“Next session,” John says, voice dark with promise. The only thing Rhys can do in response is nod. “Anyway, what were you saying before?”

It takes Rhys a few moments to gather himself enough to remember what he was saying. “Oh. Right! Dude, so obviously you’re a fan of Handsome Jack too, right?”

“Yes,” John says slowly. “I am...a fan of Handsome Jack. It is why I have his face. On my face.”

“That’s what I thought,” Rhys says, satisfied. “God, he’s just so _cool_.”

John has the weirdest look on his face as he listens. But he’s listening, and that’s the most important bit. This is one of the few times Rhys is gonna have a chance to talk with a fellow Handsome Jack fan without things getting weird. He’s _not_ letting it go that easily.

(Seriously, he’d tried meeting up with some fellow forum fans once. That...had not gone all that well. He’s had better luck with the doubles, and it looks like this might be a homerun too.)

“I mean. His _hands_.” Rhys sighs. “They’re so huge, it’s amazing. Your spanking was great, and my ass is so gonna hurt tomorrow, but I kind of wonder what it’d be like getting spanked by the actual Handsome Jack. How close is your hand size to his? I know you guys don’t get surgery on the hands, so you’re all different there.”

“Mine are close enough,” John says, sounding a little strangled. “I’ve been told they’re practically as good as the original.”

Rhys hums, eyes sliding half-closed as he thinks about how his sessions with John have gone so far. “God, I bet his hands would be so good at getting you off.”

“They’re also really great at choking the life out of idiots,” John points out, sounding a little bemused.

“ _Dude_. I am so into that, you don’t even know.” Rhys sits up, shaking off John’s hand to sit cross-legged on the bed. He reaches out, and takes John’s hand back, splaying it open and tracing the lines on his wide palm. “I keep meaning to save up for that breathplay add-on to a session, but I always end up just booking vanilla ones because I’m too impatient to save up enough.”

John snorts, and closes his hand, catching Rhys’ fingers in a tight grip. “I’ll let you try it out someday, on the house.”

“Done,” Rhys says immediately. “When?”

John stares at him, clearly taken aback. Although why he should be taken aback, Rhys has no idea. Maybe he’s judging Rhys.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Rhys says indignantly. “It’s like an additional hundred credits if I have to buy it myself. That’s a lot of meals, okay?”

John looks him up and down. “Really admiring your life choices right now,” he says, but he sounds amused.

“Listen, not everybody is born with the bone structure and physique to become one of Jack’s body doubles and earn ridiculous amounts of money pretending to be someone else. Someone _awesome_ ,” Rhys points out. “And if you can’t _be_ the guy, or sleep with the guy, sleeping with his body double is the next best thing, right?”

“You,” John says, snorting and turning away to roll out of bed. “Are one heck of a weird kid, yunno that?”

Rhys scowls at his back as John starts pulling on his pants. Rich, coming from the guy who was getting paid to have sex as someone else…

There must be something of what he’s feeling on his face, because when John turns back and sees his expression, he rolls his eyes and crawls back onto the bed, looking a little exasperated. He reaches out, and takes Rhys’ face, big hands cupping his cheeks and pressing them together, easily ignoring Rhys’ indignant spluttering.

“Don’t look like I kicked your puppy. I’ll give you some nice good dick next time to make up for it, okay?”

“And the strangulation,” Rhys adds, brightening up.

John rolls his eyes again. “And the strangulation,” he agrees, but his voice is fond.

Or maybe that’s just Rhys’ wishful thinking.

\---

A third session with John becomes a fourth, and a fifth, until Rhys loses count. To Rhys’ delight, he not only gets the free breathplay, he also gets a whole bunch of other add-ons that would’ve sent him crying to the bank (or Vaughn) otherwise.

For example, at the third session, the receptionist clears her throat and, very determinedly not looking Rhys in the eye, tells him that he’d qualified for a special membership discount on his sessions.

“Wait, what kind of special membership?” Rhys asks, frowning. He’s pretty sure he’s gone through the Helios Pleasure Palace’s site and brochures about a thousand times now, and he’s never heard anything about a “Loyalty Bonus” before.

“It’s for the frequency of your sessions,” the receptionist says, still looking fixedly at her screen. “If you like, I can double check.” She reaches out to take his card from the reception desk.

“No!” Rhys fumbles, and nearly drops the card in his haste to pick it up. “That’s um. That’s totally fine. So, 90% off all future sessions? Really?” He can barely believe his ears.

“As long as you keep requesting the same Jack,” the receptionist reminds him. She glances at him finally, but looks away just as quickly, a faint flush rising on her cheeks. It’s a little disconcerting, if Rhys is being honest.

He makes a mental note to check his face in the next reflective surface he sees. Maybe he’d left some shaving cream on there in the morning?

“Right. No problem with _that_ ,” he says, half-laughing. “Man, he’s really good, eh? John, that is.”

“...Yes. Hm. John...is one of our best.” The receptionist still doesn’t make eye contact. “Um, sir? Your session is starting soon. If you’d please make your way over to your assigned room…” She gestures at the door to the left.

“Oh. Right, thanks,” Rhys says, disconcerting lack of eye contact shunted off to the side as he focuses on business at hand. Well, more pleasure than business, but the thought still stands.

When he taps his card against the door, it opens immediately, John on the other side of it.

“ _Finally_ ,” John all but growls, and reaches forward to yank Rhys into the room by his shirt.

“Not the shirt!” Rhys yelps as he goes in all too willingly.

The shirt survives the session, but only by virtue of Rhys stripping it off as quickly as is humanly possible. Rhys’ underwear, however, does not.


	4. Chapter 4 - Jack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: mention of spanking, mild daddy kink  
> NSFW warning: the art in this chapter is very nsfw, maybe don't open it while your parents are looking at your phone or anything. or do, i'm not your boss.

Jack finds himself thinking about that impromptu session at the Pleasure Palace a lot over the following days. He’ll be in a meeting, or sitting at his desk trying to wrangle his way through a fifty-page long contract, when he’ll realise he’s been spacing out, thinking about Rhys’ expressive mouth, the way his thighs had felt beneath Jack’s hands, and more often than not, the _look_ on his face as he’d come with Jack’s name on his tongue and Jack’s cock in him.

“Sir?”

Jack sits up, scowling. Again. God _damn_ it.

“I’m listening,” he says curtly, even though he clearly hadn’t been. “Setbacks and fires to put out, yada yada, you need more money _again_ , behind schedule, blablabla. Did I get the gist right?”

The nerd in front of him looks like every idiot’s idea of what a crazy scientist would look like, down to the oversized glasses, lab coat, and greasy hair with a pair of honest-to-god goggles perched on top of it. It would’ve been funny, except Jack’s already preoccupied with another skinny nerd entirely.

“Just three more weeks, sir. We promise we’ll have results by then!” The scientist takes her glasses - who needed glasses _and_ goggles?! - off, and wipes them on her lab coat with shaky fingers. Jack eyes the various stains of mysterious origin across the lab coat, and wonders at what point a nervous tic becomes an unhealthy habit.

Did Rhys go often enough to the Pleasure Palace that it’d count as a bad habit? Probably. Jack has seen the price charts for sessions there, and Rhys didn’t really look like he was anything above middle management. It all depended on how often Rhys went.

Oh. Damn it.

Scowling even harder, Jack waves the scientist off, irritated with himself at the way his thoughts keep turning back to the leggy idiot he’d met for _two hours_.

“Fine. Whatever. Three weeks. Don’t let the doorknob go up your ass on the way out.”

Once the office is empty but for himself, Jack leans back in his chair, steeples his fingers, and glares up at the ceiling. It’s not like Jack lacks the ability to get sex anytime and anywhere he wants, _obviously_. It’s just--

Rhys is intriguing. And Jack has been too busy with work lately to relieve any stress, and this entire distraction is just lingering because he’s reluctant to go back to work. That’s all there is to it, and now that he’s named it, he can go back to being productive.

So when he flicks his screen back open, he fully means to go back to working on that Helios substation project. Instead, he finds himself calling up the Hyperion employee database, and searching for Rhys’ account.

It takes him a couple tries, because he goes for Reese first, convinced for some reason that Rhys is named after a snack. Eventually, he realises he can just go into the Pleasure Palace’s records. Sure, they aren’t technically open to the public, but it’s not like _Jack_ is the general public.

Once in the Pleasure Palace’s database, it doesn’t take him long to find Rhys’ account.

“Rhys Albrich, huh.” Jack scrolls through Rhys’ booking history, and snorts at the sheer number of sessions booked. It’s not as bad as some of the other people in the database, but it’s still pretty impressive.

With Rhys’ name, it takes him less than a minute to pull up his main Hyperion account, and even less time to come to the conclusion that Rhys, who is apparently a lowly manager in the Securities Propaganda division, spends _way_ too much of his salary on those sessions.

So, a fanboy. And not even one with all that much sense. Easy enough to dismiss.

Just as he’s about to close the tabs on Rhys, his screen pings with an incoming call. It’s from Nisha, and Jack answers immediately, because old habits die hard.

“Heya cupcake,” Jack greets her, once the call connects.

“Hey yourself, lover boy.” The video is grainy, because Nisha has refused all of Jack’s “suggestions” that Lynchwood could use better satellite infrastructure. If refused is the right word to describe the bonfire she’d made of all the equipment Jack had sent down. “So how was the orgy room?”

“Orgy _floors_ ,” Jack corrects her. “You weren’t kidding about the place.”

“I never kid about this kind of stuff,” Nisha says, lips curving into a smirk.

“Look, when you say things like _zero-G sex swings_ , you gotta expect some level of incredulity, okay? Wait--” Jack points an accusing finger at her. “Did you know they have a replica of my office? And you didn’t warn me?”

“Yeah, who do you think gave them the layout?” Nisha grins at his outraged expression. “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell them about the shrine you made to your old coffee machine.”

“You better not,” Jack mutters. “Ol’ Sparky isn’t for just any shmuck to get their hands on.”

Nisha rolls her eyes, clear even through the grain of the video. “I would’ve thought you’d be flattered to see your handsome mug everywhere.”

“Oh, it was _swell_ ,” Jack says, making sure to lay down the sarcasm as heavily as he can. “Getting reminded of how my body doubles get to have all the hot, bizarre sex I’m not having, because I’m too busy keeping this freaking space station and company afloat.”

“Aw, poor baby,” Nisha coos, voice dripping with saccharine sarcasm more poisonous than anything Jack could ever hope to achieve. “It must be so _hard_ , being the big bad CEO of a multi-planetary company.”

“It is,” Jack says, with great dignity. “Very hard. Just so you know.”

The video feed is grainy and desaturated, but somehow Jack knows that Nisha’s got her dark purple lipstick on that grin of hers.

“Anyway, I met a fanboy while I was there.” Jack pulls up Rhys’ picture from the Hyperion database, and sends it over to Nisha.

“Ooh, he’s cute.” Nisha glances off to the side, and makes an appreciative sound at Rhys’ picture. “So when you say _met_ …”

“Ha, yeah. We banged. No biggie.” Jack leans back in his chair, and crosses his hands behind his head. “He was pretty hot. Couldn’t deepthroat for shit, but man, could he take dick like a champ.”

“Mm. He looks like he’d be a crier.”

“Oh, he cried alright.” Jack thinks about Rhys’ expressive face, and the wet look in his eyes as Jack had fucked him. “Big, fat tears.”

“Nice.”

“He was a kinky little shit, too. Wanted me to hold my gun to his head while fucking him and everything.”

Nisha raises an approving eyebrow. “ _Very_ nice.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Jack hums, and sits forward, reaching out to flick through Rhys’ files.

“So, what’s it like? Fucking one of your fanboys. Did all that idol adoration make things better or worse?” Nisha leans forward, a slightly worrying glint in her eye.

“About that…” Jack looks away from Nisha, and back to scrutinising Rhys’ files. “He uh, might have been under the impression that I was a body double.”

“What?”

There’s a long moment of silence, which Jack spends scrolling through Rhys’ files and determinedly not making eye contact. It’s eventually broken as Nisha starts laughing, hat knocked askew as she leans back in her chair, entire body shaking with laughter.

“Oh my god. Handsome Jack, pretending to be one of his own body doubles. This is _rich_.”

“I wasn’t _pretending_ ,” Jack says, affronted. “He made some assumptions, and I got distracted by the prospect of getting my dick sucked before I could correct him.”

“Uh-huh. And getting your ego stroked hearing about how good you are at pretending to be yourself totally didn’t factor into it.” Nisha props her chin up on one hand, and grins at Jack, lips curved into a smile that makes her look like the proverbial cat.

Jack does _not_ like feeling like the proverbial canary.

“Ego, and cock,” Jack says, trying to regain control of the conversation. “Besides, he was too busy gagging on said cock to really do all that much stroking. Of either kind.”

“Sure thing, handsome,” Nisha says, still watching Jack with that _look_. “Whatever you say.”

“Now see.” Jack points at her accusingly. “Why can’t you say things like that more often?”

Nisha snorts. “Don’t want your handsome head to get too inflated. Makes it harder for me to sit on your face. Anyway, I called for a reason.”

The conversation moves on to the topic of the bandit problem in Lynchwood. Or rather, the _lack_ of bandits that has become a problem. It’s funny, Jack has never thought lack of bandits would ever be a problem, but going by Nisha’s frustration, it’s endemic. Or possibly pandemic, one of those.

The moral of the story is, bandits are a frigging pain in the ass, even when they aren’t actually around.

Luckily for Nisha’s itchy trigger finger, Jack has a readily dispatchable team of loader bots, and Pandora has an _ample_ supply of bandit towns full of idiots who would jump at the first opportunity to shoot at shiny Hyperion tech. Even luckier, the nearest settlement to Lynchwood also happens to be full of Hodunks, a particularly obnoxious and backwards breed of bandits. By the time Nisha’s ready to end the call, she’s practically perky with anticipation. Which for Nisha means she’s humming as she carefully polishes individual bullets before sliding them into her revolver.

(It’s Jakobs, not Hyperion, which Jack has always felt was kind of an insult, but he’s not about to bring that up to her anytime soon.)

To distract himself from the mildly erotic sight of Nisha’s slim fingers working on the barrel of her gun, Jack gives her the classic wink and double finger guns.

“You know who to thank after, right babe?”

Nisha snorts, and doesn’t look away from her gun. “I’ll be sure to send you a souvenir, if you’re not too busy making eyes at that pretty little fanboy you’ve gone and gotten attached to.”

“Attached?” Jack splutters.

“Please.” Nisha looks up, just long enough to give him an expressive eyeroll. “I’m hanging up on you now.”

“I’m not getting attached.” Jack scowls at the empty screen. “That would be really frigging stupid.”

\---

Two weeks later, when the call from the Pleasure Palace comes through, Jack almost rejects it by default, too busy trying to put out a fire in R&D’s third division. A metaphorical fire. The literal fire had happened last week, and the resulting cleanup operation is dragging out way longer than Jack has any patience for.

The only reason he doesn’t hang up is because there’s a flag on the source of the call. Jack frowns, eyeing the number as he tries to recall why he’d flagged it. It takes him a full minute to identify it as the Pleasure Palace’s number, about ten seconds to connect the Pleasure Palace with _Rhys_ , and then approximately two seconds to dismiss Nisha’s warning about getting attached before he answers the call.

He feels like that probably counts as seventy-two seconds of careful deliberation on his part.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Sir, you requested to be notified when a Mr. Rhys Albrich called to book a session?” The receptionist sounds a little flustered.

“I did.” Jack releases the breath he’d been holding. “Did he book one?”

“He’s on hold right now.”

“Okay.” Jack pulls up his schedule, and promptly sees a meeting on Friday night that he can cancel. “Tell him 2200 on Friday. Same room.”

“Sir- There’s a booking already--” The receptionist clears her throat at his snort, and tries again. “Right. We’ll take care of that.”

“Atta girl.” Jack flicks the meeting off his schedule with satisfaction, and eyes the nice empty spot. “Tell him it’s with John.” He doesn’t wait for her to acknowledge it before hanging up.

Three more days.

\---

When Jack steps into the reception area of the Pleasure Palace on Friday evening, the receptionist blinks at him in silent surprise, but gathers herself quickly enough.

“He’s up that way, sir.” She half stands up from her seat. “Do you need someone to bring you there?”

“Nah, that’s fine, I remember the way.” Jack’s already striding past her. “Thanks, Janice.”

“My name’s Alice,” comes faintly from behind him as he pushed through the doors, but he pays it no mind. He’s a man on a mission, after all, and he’s late. There had been an incident with a would-be assassin on the way down from his office, and killing people always leaves Jack wanting to fuck.

It takes him a few minutes to find the room, and when he enters, Rhys is already in there. Touching himself.

Jack stands in the doorway, and watches him for a minute or two, appreciating the view.

It’s a very good view indeed.

Rhys’ long, slim legs are splayed out on the bed, the hem of his shirt rucked up to reveal a slash of pale, soft-looking skin. His eyes are closed, his left hand pressed against his cock, and Jack wants, with a suddenness that surprises himself, to know if Rhys is thinking about him.

Jack closes the door and steps closer to the bed, keeping as quiet as he can. Up close, he can see the way Rhys’ hair is beginning to curl out of its gelled position, and the flush of arousal staining his cheeks pink.

As he watches, Rhys’ clutches at the bedspread and palms his dick more firmly, making the most _delicious_ sound, bitten off behind those lips of his.

Unable to hold himself back any longer, Jack reaches out, and wraps a hand around Rhys’ throat.

“Getting started without me, pumpkin?”

Rhys looks up at Jack with wide, startled eyes. Now that he’s taking the time to look, Jack realises that his blue eye is an ECHOeye. Interesting.

“I was thinking of our last session,” Rhys says, and licks his lips nervously.

It’s incredibly hot, the arousal and shame and anticipation in his voice, and Jack finds himself responding, encouraging it on.

At his urging, Rhys continues to talk, his pretty mouth shaping around the filthy words spilling from his lips. Jack can’t pick between watching Rhys’ mouth, or the dark haze of lust in his eyes. He settles for watching Rhys’ mouth, and makes up for it by letting himself _touch_. He runs a hand down Rhys’ chest, rubs his thumb against the full redness of Rhys’ lower lip. When he brushes his fingers against Rhys’ left nipple, against the blue tattoo he knows is hidden there beneath the ordinary blue shirt, and watches in delight as Rhys arches up into his touch, lips parting in a gasp.

It’s heady, the sheer, palpable _desire_ in Rhys’ every move, and Jack finds himself leaning in, wanting as much of it as he can.

Instead, he holds back, tells Rhys to put on a show. Rhys does so more than willingly, eyes heavy on Jack’s face as he touches himself with lingering hands.

“Stand up,” Jack says, hearing the roughness of his own voice. “I want to watch you open yourself for me.”

Rhys’ legs are shaky as he clambers off the bed, but he moves easily enough into position, bends over when Jack nudges him, until his ass is right in Jack’s face. The first, slicked up finger goes in easily enough, even though Rhys makes a tight, choked off little moan. Fingers two and three are a little trickier; Rhys only has one hand to work with, and the angle isn’t great, but Jack doesn’t care, because he’s more interested in making Rhys work for it than anything.

When he runs a hand across Rhys’ bare buttock, Rhys _keens_ , pleads for Jack to please just _touch_ him.

Jack’s self-control can only hold out for so long. He reaches forward and brushes the pad of his thumb against Rhys’ slick hole, beneath where Rhys’ fingers are still worked as deep as he can into himself. Rhys freezes immediately, entire body strumming with taut tension. His skin is soft and hot to the touch, his hole a delightful heated red beneath the lube’s slick. When Jack scratches his nails lightly down Rhys’ thigh, Rhys lets out a broken moan, and his fingers slip out as he slams both hands down on the edge of the bed to steady himself.

“You want me to fuck you?” Jack asks, knowing the answer before it even leaves Rhys’ lips.

“ _Yes_.”

In reply, Jack slaps Rhys’ ass. Hard. The loud _smack_ echoes in the silence of the room, accompanied by Rhys’ surprised cry as he jerks forward.

“Oh! Oh, fuck--” Rhys gasps, and pushes back. “Again, harder.”

“Don’t move,” Jack orders. Rhys makes a plaintive sound, but he obeys, body going still but for a tiny little shiver that wracks through it as Jack runs his hand against Rhys’ ass. Rhys’ skin marks up _beautifully_. There’s already a slowly reddening imprint on the pale skin, and Jack can’t help but take a deep breath at all the possibilities ahead of them. He slaps the same spot again, experimentally, and relishes the choked off moan that Rhys lets out.

“Good boy,” Jack says, and bends forward, biting down right in the center of the mark. The wet, red imprint of his teeth on Rhys’ red skin leaves a darkly satisfied feeling deep within him.

“C’mon Jack, touch me,” Rhys begs, practically wiggling his ass in Jack’s face. “Please, I want to feel you in me.”

“Patience, kiddo.” Jack lets go of Rhys’ cheeks and slides two fingers into Rhys’ hole without warning. Rhys clenches down on him, the tight feeling making Jack’s dick twitch in anticipation. “Don’t rush me.”

Jack slowly slides his fingers in and out, slicking them up and adding a third one when he feels like Rhys can take it. As he opens Rhys up, he thinks about all the things he can do to Rhys. All the things Rhys would _let_ him do. He thinks about all these things out loud, and grins when Rhys starts canting his hips back impatiently, clearly desperate for Jack to talk less, do more. Or rather, do _him_.

It’s fun to rile Rhys up, and given the time and opportunity, Jack would keep doing it, but his own libido and the discreet timer above the room’s door makes him move things along more quickly than he’d like.

“I’m gonna come in you, and you’re gonna hold it all in, okay?”

“Yes, yes please, Jack--”

“You’re gonna hold it all in, and take the spanking I’m gonna give you. It’s your punishment for touching yourself before I got here. That clear, pumpkin?”

Jack can’t see Rhys’ face, but the whine that Rhys lets out seems indicative enough.

“I’m gonna need actual words, here, sweetheart.”

“I’ll be good,” Rhys gasps, stumbling over the words in his haste to answer. “I can take everything you give me. Please, Jack!”

“There we go, that’s a good boy.” Jack twists his fingers in Rhys’ hole, and laughs as Rhys’ entire body jerks in response. “Go lie on the bed, on your back.”

Rhys climbs onto the bed, gangly limbs unsteady as he moves to obey. Stripping his clothes off, Jack follows right after, crawling over Rhys to lie down on him, press him into the bed as they kiss.

Kissing Rhys is as good as Jack remembers. Rhys kisses with a single-mindedness that Jack can’t help but be drawn into. His entire body gets in on the action: one leg comes up to hook around Jack’s thigh as he pulls Jack down against him, and his hands stroke over Jack’s back and arms, possessive and demanding all at once. Jack returns the fervour, grinds down on Rhys with his full weight as he swallows his name from Rhys’ lips.

It takes what Jack feels is a herculean effort to pull himself away from Rhys’ kisses, but he does so, pushing Rhys back down when Rhys tries to follow him up. He stares down at Rhys, and then snorts at the dopey grin that Rhys gives him.

“You ready, pumpkin?”

Rhys licks his lips, and then pulls his own legs up, exposing his hole to Jack.

“Fuck me,” he mouths, and grins at the expression on Jack’s face.

Biting back a curse at the sheer _indecency_ of the picture Rhys makes, Jack rubs his hands along Rhys’ thighs, pushing them back until Rhys’ knees are practically at his shoulders, and his breaths come quick and shallow from the strain. Rhys looks good like this, face and upper chest flushed, dick hard and lying against his hip, and further down, beneath his balls and the line of his taint, his hole, wet and open and ready.

art by [xcorajuda](http://xcorajuda.tumblr.com/)

That’s an invitation if Jack’s ever seen one, so he obliges, holds himself in position as he slides ins, cock pressing inch by inch into Rhys’ tight heat. Rhys’ grin tapers off into a moan, and his eyes squeeze shut as Jack enters him. His lips are parted as he pants, brows scrunched up with the effort of taking Jack’s cock, and Jack can’t help but reach up to thumb at Rhys’ lower lip.

Once he’s all the way in, so deep that his balls are nestled against Rhys’ body, Jack leans forward, presses his weight down into Rhys. He swallows the small _oof_ that Rhys lets out in a kiss, and then another, and another. This time, Rhys’ kisses are a little more distracted; he keeps pulling away to take shallow little pants of breath, probably from being folded practically in half. It’s still good though, and only gets better when Jack starts up a slow pace, because then he can taste the way Rhys _whimpers_.

art by [xcorajuda](http://xcorajuda.tumblr.com/)

Eventually, Jack has to give up on the kissing as he straightens up to pick up the pace, but it’s still good, because he gets to _watch_ Rhys now.

He watches as Rhys’ face scrunches up, fat tears leaking out from his eyes as his entire body jerks with every thrust Jack makes. He watches the way Rhys’ cock and balls bounce with each thrust, leaving little trails of precome along his flushed stomach. The way Rhys’ fingers are practically white with effort as he grips his own thighs, holding himself open for Jack.

It kind of makes Jack wish he has a camera, or maybe even an ECHOeye like Rhys’. A recording of Rhys like this would make even the most dull business meeting bearable. And Rhys probably wouldn’t mind. Might ask for a copy, even.

Soon enough, Jack can feel the telltale tightening of his balls, the coiling heat low in his gut an indicator of how close he is. He comes with two fingers in Rhys’ mouth, and his cock balls deep in Rhys’ ass.

Eventually, his cock softens enough that continuing to thrust into Rhys is too hard (ha), and he slows to a halt, hearing how ragged his own breathing is. He manages to stay upright for all of two seconds before giving in and slumping down on Rhys, who’s let his legs drop to splay out on either side.

“God, Rhysie,” Jack says, exhaling the words out into the crook of Rhys’ neck. “You’re so good, such a good boy.” Jack rubs his nose along the line of Rhys’ jaw, and presses an open mouthed kiss to Rhys’ neck, tasting the fresh sweat there.

Beneath him, Rhys twitches, arms going up to encircle Jack’s torso loosely. “Yeah?” He asks, the _need_ in his voice igniting something warm and dark in Jack’s gut.

“You’re _my_ good boy, aren’t you?” Jack murmurs, pressing the words as kisses to Rhys’ temple and his cheek as he sits up, taking his weight off Rhys. All he gets in response is mutely frantic nodding, and the _look_ in Rhys’ eyes, but it’s better than verbal confirmation. Better than many things. Better even than the expensive whiskey he keeps in his desk.

“Let’s see how good you can be,” Jack says, and pulls back to glance down between Rhys’ legs. “You holding it all in?”

“‘M trying,” Rhys says, pink face flushing even redder as Jack pushes Rhys’ thighs up, exposing him. When Jack presses a curious finger against Rhys’ hole, Rhys flings his arm over his by now bright red face, and let out an embarrassed whine. Jack presses a finger in slowly, and feels the way Rhys clenches down, the way his own come leaves Rhys feeling wet and hot and _used_.

“Very good,” Jack says, feeling his own still soft dick twitch at the sensation.

It takes some rearrangement, but soon, Jack’s seated at the edge of the bed, with Rhys bent facedown over Jack’s lap, both hands clutching at Jack’s left leg and erection pressing hard against Jack’s other thigh. Jack has been watching Rhys the entire time, and amended his original count down to five per cheek. He doesn’t actually _want_ Rhys to come prematurely, because there isn’t any fun in that.

Besides, this isn’t actually supposed to be punishment.

“You ready?” Jack strokes one hand over Rhys’ ass, admiring the pale softness of it. The spank and bite mark from earlier has faded by now into a faint reddish mark, and Jack looks forward to seeing Rhys’ ass properly aglow.

“Yeah,” Rhys huffs, wiggling into position. “Spank me, daddy,” he says, tilting his head to give Jack a wicked look. It isn’t entirely effective, with the way his pupils are blown and how Jack can feel him none too subtly hitching his hips, but Jack appreciates the effort nonetheless.

“You little minx,” Jack says approvingly, and brings his hand up.

\---

Later, as Jack holds Rhys against the window and fucks him for the second time that night, Nisha’s words come unexpectedly into his mind. He’s not- _attached_ or anything, he tells himself. There really isn’t all that much to get attached to. A middle management moron, with a pretty face and long legs. Sure, he looks good on Jack’s cock, but then again, many people do.

Irritated at his own thoughts, Jack shakes his head, and pauses the fucking to stare at Rhys’ face, now pressed against the window. Rhys had given up on holding himself up about four thrusts ago. The only reason he’s even remotely upright now (and he isn’t, not really) is Jack’s grip on his hips, and the window his upper half is slumped against. It’s kind of endearing.

Rhys’ breath fogs up the window with every ragged pant he makes. His lips are red and bruised, the disarray of his hair and the flush on his cheeks making him look stupidly young.

27, his file had said. Young enough that Handsome Jack would be all he knew as Hyperion’s CEO. Not young enough to be a midlife crisis for Jack.

Not that it matters, because Jack isn’t getting attached to a _fanboy_. Even if said fanboy doesn’t even know he’s getting fucked by Jack.

“Rhysie,” Jack says, trying to distract himself from the echoes of Nisha’s voice in his head. “Look at me, pumpkin.”

Rhys doesn’t answer, though he does turn his head blindly, eyes still shut.

“Rhys,” Jack says again, as he brings a hand up to press at the base of Rhys’ throat.

“John...Why’d you stop?” Rhys says, his words half-slurred and barely coherent. Jack grins, the doubt from before disappearing at how out of it Rhys looks. There’s no way he’s gonna get attached to _this_.

“You went quiet, kiddo. Wanted to check that I didn’t dick you to death or anything.”

Rhys snorts, and cracks one eye open to give Jack a sly look, at odds with the limpness of his body. “Not that you’re doing much dicking, standing there like that.”

Oh, the _nerve_.

Jack waits, not moving at all. It takes a few seconds, but when Rhys turns, exasperation and confusion clear from the pout on his face, Jack thrusts back in, and laughs as Rhys nearly loses his balance. He starts fucking into Rhys again, rougher than before, relishing Rhys’ cries.

“Please-- Jack, I’m so close,” Rhys begs, the words coming out stuttered as Jack continues to ride him hard. He’s practically sobbing, and his dick is red, painfully so, bobbing in the air as Jack fucks him.

It’s an almost pitiful sight, and Jack relents.

“Come for me, Rhysie,” Jack says, grabbing a handful of Rhys’ hair to pull him back into a kiss. Rhys cries out, barely able to return the kiss as he comes, spurting all over the window as he fucks back against Jack’s cock. He keeps coming, dribbling over Jack’s fist around his cock, body shaking with the strength of his orgasm.

It’s exhilarating, feeling the way Rhys tightens rhythmically around Jack’s cock, and Jack finds himself coming soon after as well, muffling his release into Rhys’ shoulder. It’s intense, his second orgasm in as many hours, and he barely has the wherewithal to catch both their weights against the window before they fall to the ground.

In his arms, Rhys is practically out cold, eyes half-lidded and a flush still high on his cheeks.

“Rhys?” Jack jostles him. “You there, kid?”

No response other than a mumble that could be agreement, or Jack’s name.

Snorting, Jack pushes himself up, and manhandles Rhys towards the bed. Rhys helps, somewhat. Mostly though, he slumps against Jack’s shoulder, heavy and warm and loose-limbed.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually, Jack gets the leggy idiot onto the bed, where he promptly slumps over in a position that looks incredibly uncomfortable. Rolling his eyes, Jack moves him, limb by limb, into something that looks less like it’ll cause permanent spinal damage, and then flops down next to him.

Rhys isn’t quite asleep or passed out, going by his breathing, but his eyes have remained closed throughout the entire thing. Still coming down from his orgasm, Jack decides, and gives himself a very smug mental pat on his back. He props his head up on his hand, and takes the opportunity to look Rhys over more carefully, one hand going to pat idly at Rhys’ stomach as he does so.

This close, he can see a tiny scar beneath Rhys’ left eye. Jack thinks for a second that it might be from getting the ECHOeye implant, but the scar is too small, too faded. Perhaps a childhood incident. The Hyperion files never include details like those.

Rhys’ lips have a bit of a pout to them, even in rest, and Jack grins, remembering the way they’d felt against Jack’s cock. He wonders what they’d feel like against other parts of Jack’s body. Good, probably.

As Jack watches, Rhys stirs, and slowly opens one eye, and then the other, to squint up at nothing.

“Heya, cupcake,” Jack says, and returns the slow smile that Rhys gives him.

\---

This isn’t-- getting attached or anything, Jack tells himself, as he calls up the Pleasure Palace, less than a day after the session.

“Hey, Handsome Jack here. I need to talk to you about one of your clients. Yeah. Rhys. Rhys Albrich.”

Nope, not getting attached.


	5. Chapter 5 - Tim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: double penetration, daddy kink, Tim being mildly judgey about aforementioned daddy kink, Jack being obnoxious

When Tim sees who’s calling him, he’s more than half-tempted to hang up. Actually, scratch that, he does answer, just to hang up. When Jack’s face pops up again though, Tim gives in, and accepts the call.

“What,” he says, glaring at the smug face of his boss. Well, technically it’s his face too, but Tim doesn’t really let himself think about that.

“Is that really the way you should be talking to the guy who signs your paychecks?”

“What, _sir_.”

“Better.” Jack looks- distracted. Less barbed than usual. “Where are you right now?”

“On Promethea. Tracking down the abandoned Atlas colony like you’re paying me to.” Tim tilts his ECHOtablet, shows Jack the grey, ugly ruins around him. He doesn’t show Jack the little skag he’s made friends with, sleeping at his feet next to his pack.

“Right. Nice, nice.” Jack waves Tim off dismissively. Tim keeps his face impassive through long practice, though he does let himself give Jack the middle finger, out of sight of the ECHOtablet’s screen.

“Did you call for something?”

“Yeah, yeah I did. Listen. When’s the fastest you can get back to Helios?”

“Uhhh.” Tim brings up the shuttle schedules and checks. “Next flight to Pandora is...tonight, but then I’ll have to wait till Thursday for the next drop-shuttle to Helios. Why?”

“I’ve got a new job for you. Forget Atlas for now. Come back as soon as you can.”

“What’s the job?” Tim asks, wary. The last time Jack had called him off a job, it had been to pick up Jack’s laundry. Tim had been halfway across the galaxy, and Jack had called him back. To Helios. To pick up Jack’s laundry. Then complained that he’d had to go underwearless for a week, while Tim had been busy _flying across the galaxy_ to pick up his laundry for him.

“You still do those Pleasure Palace things, right?”

“Um.” Tim did, not very often, but he did, because it paid ridiculously well and it was (mostly) good sex, but he didn’t want to know why Jack was asking. “Maybe? I’m not letting you watch, if that’s what you’re asking. Why?”

“I don’t have time to answer your dumdum questions. Not that I have to, because I’ll be paying you for it.” Jack has that smug look on his face, like he’s already got Tim’s agreement. It’s obnoxious. Very obnoxious.

“Jack, you can’t just _pay_ your way through--”

“Two million credits, and I’ll take the interest off your debt for this month..”

“...Done.” Tim is not at all ashamed of how quickly he agrees. “What are you paying me to do again?”

“Do a Double Trouble session with me and somebody at the Pleasure Palace.”

Jack says the words with a completely straight face, but Tim doesn’t quite rule out the possibility that Jack’s pulling his leg.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“...You’re joking. You want me to do a threesome with you. At the Pleasure Palace. _Why_?”

“I’m paying you to have sex with me and a third person, not to ask questions,” Jack says irritably. Though- does he look _embarrassed_?

“Okay, that’s fair, but can I at least ask who the third person is?” Tim thinks about all the people Jack could possibly want to do a threesome with. There are a lot that come to mind. But people Jack would want to do a threesome with _Tim_ with? “Is it Nisha?”

“Nah, she’s still in Lynchwood.” Jack grins, pride written all over his face. “Giving hell to bandits.”

“Of course.”

“It’s for someone named Rhys Albrich. I hear you’ve done sessions with him before.”

“ _Rhys_?” Tim is so surprised that he actually straightens up out of his Jack-slouch, voice raising. At his feet, the baby skag jerks awake and darts off. Tim watches it go wistfully, but drags his attention back to the matter at hand. “Leggy, robot arm, pretty face?”

“Yeah. Why?” Jack’s gaze snaps onto Tim’s, something sharp in them.

“Nothing,” Tim says warily. “I _have_ done sessions with him before. He’s one of the more decent ones.”

Probably most decent, if Tim’s being honest. For one thing, he wasn’t creepy or obnoxious or mean right off the bat. It’s surprising, how many fans of Handsome Jack try very hard to be Handsome Jack, down to the whole being an asshole bit. Never mind the fact that they’re essentially paying Tim to pretend to be Handsome Jack for them.

Okay, maybe not that surprising.

Rhys had been decent enough, which made him a rarity in Hyperion, and a novelty for Tim. He also happened to have similar tastes in lots of things, which meant quite a few of their sessions ended up with Tim out of character, just chatting with Rhys as himself.

Once, Tim had met Rhys at the cafe outside the Pleasure Palace by accident. Rhys had been there to do a session, and Tim had just finished one. It had been surprisingly pleasant and not-awkward, and when they’d reached the counter, Rhys had offered to pay for Tim’s drink. “For my favourite Jack,” he’d said, giving Tim a wink that aimed for suave, but ended up more dorky than anything. It had become a thing between them, Rhys turning up for their sessions with increasingly creative drinks in hand.

Tim’s favourite had been a matcha and red bean ice-blended concoction, earthy and addictingly sweet as Tim kissed it off Rhys’ lips.

With the way that Jack’s watching Tim right now, Tim’s suddenly very viscerally glad that he’d never asked Rhys out like he’d been considering.

“He’s alright. I don’t actually know what he does, other than pay to have sex with your doubles.” And buy Tim drinks.

“Oh?” At Tim’s nod, Jack seems to relax a bit. There’s still a tense edge to his jaw though, and Tim has a sinking feeling that two million credits might not be worth all of...this. “Good, good. Then you won’t have any issues fucking him with me.”

“Sure. One question,” Tim says, choosing his words very carefully. Jack raises an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t say anything, so he forges on. “I thought you didn’t do fans. At all.”

It’s not really a question, but the sentiment counts, and Jack seems to get it, going by his uncomfortable, irritated expression.

“Right. About that. He doesn’t know I’m, well. Me.”

“ _What_?” Tim nearly drops the ECHOtab in his surprise.

“Yeah. He thinks I’m one of you guys. Psh,” Jack snorts. “Dumbass.”

“And you haven’t violently and decisively corrected him of that notion, because…” Tim trails off at Jack’s look. “Nevermind. No more questions.”

“Smart of you. Which you better be, since you’re _me_.” Jack gives Tim an assessing look. “And clean yourself up before you get here. You look like a mess.”

The call ends, and Tim, now free to do so, rolls his eyes and promptly dials Nisha.

“Howdy.” Nisha looks cheerful, practically upbeat, and Tim is slightly worried right up until he hears a gunshot and a scream. Right. Jack did say something about bandits. “What’s up, pretty boy?”

“Hi. Listen, Jack just called me--”

“Oh?”

“--and he wants me back on Helios. To do a threesome with him and this guy.”

“Oh.” Nisha rolls her eyes. “The fanboy he’s got a crush on.”

“A crush,” Tim says flatly. “Jack.”

“Yeah. Wait, hold on.” Nisha looks away from the screen to yell at someone. “Around the _neck_ , you imbecile! How would hanging him from his ankles do anything?”

Tim eyes the grin on her face, and decides not to ask.

“Right. Sorry, incompetent underlings and all that. Gonna have to do some lynching tonight,” Nisha says, though she sounds cheerful enough about the prospect. “Anyway, about Jack’s crush.”

“Yeah, should I be worried?”

“Dunno. He’s been dancing around the guy for a while now, and apparently the poor kid still doesn’t know he’s banging the real Jack.”

Tim sighs, and bends down to pick up his pack. He slings it over his shoulder, checks that his guns are in order, and starts jogging to the nearest fast travel station.

“I know, he told me,” Tim says as he goes. “That’s what I’m worried about. Along with the part where Jack’s actually sleeping with a fan. Since he usually calls them idiots, and likes to kill them in increasingly creative ways and all, and I actually like Rhys.”

“Rhys? The fanboy? You know him?” Nisha looks him over. “Oh. You _like_ him.”

“No, not like--” Tim’s protests are cut off as Nisha groans, long and exaggerated.

“What _is_ it with this guy? First Jack, now you?”

“It’s not--!”

“Man, maybe I should come up and meet him for myself,” Nisha muses. Tim is slightly more than terrified at the idea, because he’s pretty sure Nisha would eat Rhys alive. Or possibly get on _too_ well with him, which might be worse. Tim’s not sure Hyperion or even Jack would survive a Nisha and Rhys partnership. Rhys, from what Tim has seen, has something of a creatively ruthless streak to him, beneath that dorky exterior.

“Maybe,” he says, and moves on before she can get too attached to the idea. “So Jack hasn’t told him who he is? Why?”

Nisha shrugs, like that’s answer enough. Tim kicks aside the dead body of a scavenger he’d killed on the way in, and thinks aloud as he continues to walk. “Rhys thinks Jack’s one of his own doubles, so they must’ve met at the Pleasure Palace.”

“Yep. He was there for a meeting.”

“Rhys must’ve mixed Jack up with his assigned Jack. And Jack just...went along with it.” Tim flung his free hand out, trying to convey his confusion to Nisha. “ _Why_?”

“Dunno,” Nisha says, obviously getting bored with the topic of Jack and his dick. “Jack wants to get his dick wet, and what Jack wants, Jack gets. Can you drop by Lynchwood on your way to Helios?”

Tim sighs, and brings up the shuttle schedules again. “Yeah, I’ll have a couple days. Want me to get you those Promethea cookies again?”

“ _Hell_ yes.” Nisha grins, and gives an exaggerated kiss to the camera. “You’re my favourite, Tim.”

“Don’t let Jack hear you say that,” Tim jokes weakly, ignoring the little pleased feeling in his gut when he hears his name. It shouldn’t still make him feel good; the doubles at the Pleasure Palace all go by assigned names, and he’d been allowed to choose his own, unlike the rest, but somehow it’s always different, hearing it from people who knew him _before_.

Plus, he’s pretty sure Nisha only pulls it out to manipulate him into doing things for her. Not that she needs to.

“What, that you’re my favourite?” Nisha makes a dismissive gesture. “He’s a big boy, he can handle the disappointment. Anyway, cookies. You know where Lynchwood is. See ya, Timmy.”

With that, she hangs up. Tim stares down at the blank screen of his ECHOtab for a long second before he sighs, stuffs it back into his pack and continues his way to the fast travel station.

\---

Come Thursday evening, Tim is back on Helios, and uncomfortably reminded of how much he needs a proper shower. The water in Nisha’s Lynchwood apartment had been lukewarm and barely more than a trickle, and Nisha had only shrugged when Tim brought it up. The plumbing in the town had, apparently, been literally shot to shit.

Tim heads straight to his own, not-much-less-shitty studio apartment once the shuttle touches down on Helios. It’s tucked away in one of the more sketchy districts, but he prefers it that way because Jack never visits. It’s not like Tim’s in all that much either, but it’s the principle of the thing.

He unlocks the door, checking the thread he’d placed there. It’s intact, but he still steps in warily. It’s only after he makes his rounds and double checks that the place is empty and untouched that he allows himself to relax and put his pack down by the door and look around.

It’s really dusty.

He eyes the grime on his clothing, and then the dust around the apartment. The responsible thing to do would probably be to shower the worst of the grime off, clean, and then take a proper shower.

Tim ends up falling asleep unshowered on the dusty couch instead. Cleaning can wait.

Two hours later, he jerks up into wakefulness when his ECHOtab pings softly. It’s Jack, demanding to know where he is. Of course.

Tim groans, and drops his ECHOtab back on the floor. He picks it up after a moment, because ignoring Jack never actually works.

<< I just reached home.

>> Okay, I’m coming by to pick you up. 20 mins. You still living in that shithole?

Tim rubs at his face as he sits up, exhaustion and his interrupted nap making his body feel heavy and sluggish. Twenty minutes is not long enough for him to get emotionally ready for Jack, let alone Jack and Rhys. Who apparently has been getting sessions for free, including this one, according to Nisha’s scandalised amusement as they’d sat in her living room, gossiping and taste-testing her latest attempts at moonshine.

The idea that Jack has a crush is weird enough, but that the crush is _Rhys_ is even weirder. It’s been a while since Tim’s done a session with Rhys, and he wonders what Rhys is like now. He wonders if Rhys has managed to get that ECHOeye upgrade he’d been talking about.

“Guess I’ll find out,” he mumbles to himself, and picks up his ECHOtab to reply Jack.

<< It’s not a shithole. I’ll be at the entrance.

Jack doesn’t reply, which is pretty par for the course. Tim drops his head back onto the sofa cushion, and stares up at his ceiling.

“Life,” he says to the empty apartment. “Was a lot easier when I was just paid to shoot things.”

The apartment doesn’t respond.

He eventually drags himself off the couch and goes to shower. His shower, thankfully, actually has water pressure, and he lets himself indulge for a bit, just stands there beneath the hot spray and stares at the swirls of dust and dirt and blood tinged water pooling around his toes and towards the drain. It’s kind of gross, but satisfying at the same time.

Eighteen minutes later, Tim, now freshly showered, squeaky clean and dressed in his cleanest Jack outfit, ducks into the open door of Jack’s car.

“Jack.”

“Hello, me,” Jack replies, not looking up from the screen in his hands. “Hope you showered off all the Atlas stink.”

“I bottled it, just for you,” Tim says pleasantly enough, and hides his smile at Jack’s eyeroll.

“God, when did you get such a smart mouth?” Jack mutters. “I indulge you too much.”

“Sure. Speaking of indulging…” Tim pauses, not sure if he actually wants to continue. Baiting Jack was a dangerous sport. On the other hand, Jack seems unusually calm today. Tim’s willing to put money on the upcoming session with Rhys as a reason. “I hear Rhys is getting sessions with you for free,” he says carefully.

It’s only because he’s watching Jack so carefully that he notices the slight tightening of Jack’s hands around the screen.

“Not free, discounted. What’s it to you?” Jack looks up, and gives Tim a carelessly scornful look. “Don’t worry, you’ll still get paid the full price.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Tim lies. “Just wondering why, that’s all.”

“Did you know the idiot was spending nearly a third of his monthly paycheck on those sessions?” Jack snorts. “I felt bad for him, and anyway it’s not like he’s actually taking up a double’s time.”

_Just yours_ , Tim doesn’t say. Instead, he shrugs and says, “Okay. Nisha told me to tell you that you’ve got a crush, by the way. Just passing on the message.”

Jack scowls, heavy eyebrows drawing in angrily, and mutters something about Nisha needing to mind her own frigging business. The car ride continues on in silence, until Tim breaks it.

“Just...don’t fling him out of an airlock or anything when you get bored of him or whatever. He’s nice.” Tim glances away, out of the window. They’re still pretty far out from the Pleasure Palace. When he looks back, Jack’s staring at him.

“Nice, huh?”

Well, shit. Tim shrugs, lets his eyes slide away from Jack’s like it’s no big deal. “Yeah, he bought me a coffee a couple times. People in Hyperion don’t normally do that kinda thing unless they want something from you.”

Thankfully, Jack doesn’t press the issue, just makes a snide comment about Tim’s bleeding heart and goes back to his screen.

As the car pulls into the driveway of the Pleasure Palace, Tim gets ready to get out. He checks over his Jack outfit, makes sure the stupid single glove is buckled on properly and the yellow sweater is half-tucked in just right. It’s kind of his ritual before starting a session, to make sure that he gets properly into the Jack role, starting from the outfit. Speaking of the Jack role…

“So, how are we going to do this?” Tim asks, turning to Jack. “Normally when I do a DT session, there’s a story. Sometimes it’s Jack and a double, sometimes we’re both doubles, sometimes we’re both Jack.”

Jack blinks at him. “What?”

“Yeah. Depends on what the client wants, really.” Tim eyes Jack. “What’s with that expression?”

“I dunno, I don’t normally think about what you guys do at the Pleasure Palace very much,” Jack says, still looking somewhat nonplussed.

“It’s a job, Jack. Not just fucking. What were you expecting?” Tim resists the very strong urge to sigh. “Okay, what did Rhys ask for?”

“He just said that he kinda missed his regular double. The one who was _nice_.” Jack has a look on his face, which takes Tim a while to place, because _jealousy_ on _Jack’s_ face is something so completely alien to him. “Also, he mentioned wanting to try getting DP-ed for his birthday, the shameless little brat.”

Oh god. Tim winces internally. No wonder Jack had reacted so badly earlier to _nice_. And no wonder Nisha said Jack had a crush, because god, the look on his face right now.

“His birthday, really?” Tim says, channeling his best unimpressed-Nisha impression. With Jack, the best defense was always offense. “Okay, so I guess we’ll just do the Jack and double thing, to keep things simple. You’ll be Jack for the roleplay, which should be easy enough for you. I’ll play my role by ear. God, how has he not realised you’re Jack yet?”

“Because I’m really good at dicking him into incoherence,” Jack says smugly.

“Sure.” Tim doesn’t hold in his eyeroll at that. “And- just so it’s out there? This is the weirdest freaking job you’ve ever had for me. And you once had me nailing up inspirational posters. In a hideout full of scavs. Scavs who were _illiterate_. And _that’s_ not even counting the time you had me enter a Claptrap’s consciousness. I’m just saying, most people don’t resolve their crushes by getting a third person to join them in a threesome.”

“Rhys is not a _crush_ ,” Jack snorts. “He’s a distraction, that’s all. Have you _seen_ the kid? He takes dick like a frigging champ!”

_Yes, but I haven’t been tempted to pay someone else two million credits just to fulfil his birthday wish_ , Tim absolutely doesn’t say, because two million credits. Also his life.

“Anyway,” Jack continues, oblivious to Tim’s silent judgment. “I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to have sex with one of you guys. And, what a happy coincidence! My favourite double happens to be the one Rhys is missing.”

Jack reaches out, and pulls Tim in by his jacket lapels. Tim goes along with it, lets himself get dragged closer to Jack, but catches himself on the back of the seat before he actually falls into Jack’s lap.

“I wonder…” Jack said, eyes searching over Tim’s face. Tim keeps breathing, doesn’t think about the tiny space between their faces. Some of the more recent doubles forewent most of the facial surgeries to just get the mask, which was a less invasive procedure, and most of the older ones got the mask as well, to match Jack. Tim never went for it though. He’s one of the few doubles with Jack’s original face, possibly the last. He wonders what Jack sees, when he looks at his old face.

“Did they give you all my dick size as well?”

Of course.

Jack continues, brows furrowed as he glances down at Tim’s hands and crotch. “They do, sorta, right? Something about approximate size, especially for the doubles for the PP. Rhys said something about hands though. Do they not fix those along with the face?”

“Similar hand and foot sizes are a requirement for the body double program,” Tim recites from memory, looking somewhere over Jack’s shoulder. “Because the fine bones in those areas make surgery mostly non-viable.”

“Oh. Heh, makes sense.” Jack lets go of Tim’s jacket. “Lemme see your hands.”

Tim gives them over. Jack takes them into his own hands, and runs his thumbs across Tim’s palms as he examines them for something. What exactly, Tim has no idea. Instead, he tries not to look down at their joined hands, because it’s- weirdly intimate, Jack holding his hands like this.

“Mine are bigger,” Jack eventually says, satisfaction making him sound disgustingly smug.

“Really,” Tim says. “Really, Jack?”

“Yeah, had to check that I was the superior Jack. Which I am, duh.” Jack releases Tim’s hands, and shoves him back. “Okay, show time, baby.”

\---

When Tim opens the door to their assigned room, he’s greeted by the sight of Rhys, stretched out on his back across the bed, tapping at absolutely nothing in the air. As Jack shoves past him to stride into the room with a “Heya cupcake,” Tim realises that Rhys _did_ get that ECHOeye upgrade, going by that glowing blue eye that flickers as Rhys taps at the air.

“John! And- Tim? Is that you?” Rhys sits up, and swings his legs over the side of the bed. The glow of his ECHOeye fades as he takes Tim in. “Oh my god, are you- Jack- wait, John? This is confusing.”

“Don’t stress too much about it,” Jack says, grinning widely as he practically bounces onto the bed to lie next to Rhys, head thumping into Rhys’ lap. “Happy birthday, kiddo.”

Rhys’ face turns a hot red, and he darts an embarrassed glance at Tim before leaning down and whispering something to Jack that Tim can’t hear. Jack listens, and his grin grows wider.

“Nah, he’s cool. Right, _Jack_?” Jack turns to Tim, and raises an eyebrow.

Tim stifles his sigh, and walks over next to the bed, feeling himself settle into his Jack self more with every step. “Heya kitten,” he says, and leans over to run a hand through Rhys’ hair. “I hear it’s your birthday.”

Rhys stares at him, wide-eyed and a flush high on his cheeks. The new blue of his ECHOeye is eye-catching, and the rest of him is as pretty as Tim remembers. Tim tightens his fingers in Rhys’ hair, and watches as Rhys’ tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“I- Yeah, yes.” Rhys says, voice already hitching a little. “Oh my god,” he adds, under his breath.

Jack moves to drape himself over Rhys’ back, digging his chin into Rhys’ shoulder and turning that blazing grin onto Tim.

“This little minx right here,” Jack says, one hand snaking around Rhys’ waist and going to play with the catch of Rhys’ trousers. “Told me last week that he wanted to try getting fucked by two of us at the same time.”

Rhys makes an embarrassed sound, hot flush of embarrassment and arousal on his face starting to creep down his neck. He doesn’t do anything to deny Jack’s statement though, just leans back into Jack’s chest and keeps watching Tim with hungry eyes.

Pulled along by his grip in Rhys’ hair, Tim leans forward, till he’s bent over Rhys and Jack in the bed. He reaches out, braces himself against Jack’s shoulder, and mirrors Jack’s shark grin down at Rhys, trapped between them.

“Two of us at the same time, eh?” Tim lets go of Rhys’ hair, slides his hand down to cup Rhys’ cheek, brush his thumb over Rhys’ mouth. Rhys immediately parts his lips, latches onto it. His mouth is hot, and the wet give of his soft tongue beneath the pad of Tim’s thumb is distractingly good. “Think he can really handle us both?” Tim asks, directing the question at Jack even as he keeps his eyes on where Rhys is sucking on his thumb.

“Rhys is a very good boy, though.” Jack pulls Rhys back against his chest, and runs his hands down Rhys’ chest. “Aren’t you, cupcake?”

“Okay, before we go any further,” Rhys says, Tim’s thumb slipping out of his mouth to leave a wet streak down his chin. “I just gotta say. This? Is the best day of my life, hands down.” He turns, and reaches up to pull Jack into a kiss. Tim watches as Jack goes more than willingly, watches the way Jack bites down on Rhys’ lower lip and the way Rhys grins against Jack’s mouth, like they’ve done this a thousand times before. “Thank you, John. Both of you.”

Given the choice, Tim would leave right now, because something about the way Rhys is kissing Jack seems painfully intimate, and he wants no part of it. Instead, because he’s a fucking professional, in all senses of the phrase, he reaches out, and brushes a hand along the side of Rhys’ neck.

“What, no kisses for me?”

Rhys breaks away from Jack’s mouth with a short laugh, and turns to Tim, pulls him in for a kiss. It’s easy, kissing Rhys. Tim falls into it, lets his eyes close and relaxes against Rhys’ mouth, relearns the way Rhys likes to brush his nose against Tim’s cheek as he kisses, intimate and a little sweet for what they’re about to do. When Tim eventually pulls away, his trousers are more than a little tight.

art by [magpie-s-nest](http://magpie-s-nest.tumblr.com/)

Tight trousers are not his biggest problem though, because before he can straighten up, there’s an unfortunately all too familiar hand grabbing him by his hair and pulling him into another kiss, this time with Jack.

Jack kisses _exactly _like how Tim thought Jack would kiss. Hard, controlling, and Tim finds himself pushing back, refusing to back down. It gets heated, as things with Jack always do, and this time, when Tim pulls away, his breath is ragged, and so’s Jack’s. They stare at each other for a long moment, and Tim can’t tell if the look in Jack’s eyes is arousal or anger. Possibly both, knowing Jack.__

__“That,” Rhys says, thankfully interrupting the moment. “Was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Reminded of Rhys’ presence, Tim glances down. Rhys is practically squashed between Jack and Tim’s bodies, but looks perfectly content where he is, watching them with a heavy-lidded gaze as his left hand goes down to press against his still-clothed cock. “Have you guys done these sessions together before or something?”_ _

__Tim exchanges a look with Jack, and bites back a snort at Jack’s nonplussed expression._ _

__“Something like that,” he says, covering for Jack. Then he lets his voice slip back into a lower timbre. “Now, strip for us.”_ _

__\---_ _

__“Hey, Rhysie.” Jack skims a hand down the line of Rhys’ spine, and Tim feels the way Rhys shivers against his entire body. “Why don’t you show him how much better you’ve gotten at deepthroating.”_ _

__Jack’s tone is not a suggestion, but Rhys seems more than willing enough, shuffling back from where he’d been kissing Tim as Jack opened him up. Tim parts his legs, leans back against the headboard of the bed, and watches. He and Jack are still almost fully dressed, but Rhys is naked between them, and his skin looks strikingly pale against their clothing. It’s a nice contrast, heightened only by the pinkness of Rhys’ face, Jack’s bite marks littered across his shoulders and chest, and his red cock, bobbing in the air comically as he moves._ _

__“You’ve been teaching him how to deepthroat?” Tim waits for Rhys to settle himself between his legs before going to cup his hands around Rhys’ jaw, holding him back from starting._ _

__“Yep. He’s getting there.” Jack’s eyes are narrowed in concentration as he continues to work at Rhys’ ass with his lubed up fingers. “Think maybe if I’m distracting him with _this_ \--” His arm shifts, and Rhys jerks between them, letting out a shocked little gasp. “We can get him out of his head enough for him to take you deeper than usual.”_ _

__Rhys shakes Tim’s hands off his face, and lays his head on Tim’s thigh, blinking through watery eyes up at Tim. “Let me suck your cock,” he says, left hand coming up to palm at where Tim’s cock is straining against his trousers. “I’ll make it good for you.”_ _

__Behind Rhys, Jack laughs, and smacks Rhys on the ass with a lube-covered hand. Rhys exclaims, and sits up enough to glare over his shoulder at Jack._ _

__“What?” Rhys says. Tim can’t see his face, but he’s pretty sure there’s some pouting going on._ _

__“You little slut,” Jack says, but his voice is very fond. He bends down, and gives Rhys a little nip on the back of his neck._ _

__Rhys arches against Jack, his indignant pout melting into a pleased sigh as he mumbles something about John liking him anyway. Tim, watching them, marks another thing to tell Nisha about, once this is all over._ _

__“Now go on,” Jack says, once he’s done biting yet another mark into Rhys’ skin. He pushes Rhys’s head down into Tim’s lap, none too gently._ _

__Rhys looks up at Tim, a stupidly happy expression on his face. It’s endearing, and Tim finds himself returning it despite himself._ _

__“Come on then,” he says, reaching down to help Rhys undo his belt buckle._ _

__It turns out Jack isn’t kidding. Tim cradles Rhys’ head in his hands, careful not to push him down, and watches in admiration as Rhys takes him nearly halfway down before pulling off with a choked gasp. Jack’s not too shabby in the size department, and so, unfortunately, neither is Tim. From what Tim remembers, Rhys, while enthusiastic, had a pretty strong gag reflex that kicked in early. Now though, Rhys presses down, swallows frantically around Tim, and it feels- good. Really fucking good._ _

__“Fuck,” Tim breathes out, thumbing away the tears leaking from the corners of Rhys’ eyes. “Shit, that’s good.”_ _

__“Right?” Jack pats the small of Rhys’ back, his hand large and possessive on the pale skin there. He’s got a look on his face, proud and something fierce, and it’s easier, so much easier, for Tim to watch Rhys’ red face of concentration instead._ _

__“You might wanna hurry up there,” he says to Jack, gesturing at where three of Jack’s fingers are knuckle deep in Rhys. “If you want us both in him sometime this year.”_ _

__Jack bares his teeth at him, the grin more warning than anything. “We have all night, and Rhysie here isn’t going anywhere, is he?”_ _

__“What?” Rhys pulls off Tim’s dick, and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. His face is a mess of tears and spit and precome, and his lips are a bruised looking red, making his dazed expression look especially debauched. It’s a good look on him._ _

__Instead of answering, Tim reaches out, and pulls Rhys into a kiss, tastes himself on Rhys’ tongue. Even with his eyes shut, he _knows_ when Jack adds a fourth finger, because Rhys whimpers, lips trembling against Tim’s as he clutches onto Tim’s arms like a lifeline. When Tim pulls away, Rhys slumps against him, practically boneless in Tim’s arms. Behind him, Jack, who’s moved in closer to keep finger fucking Rhys, bends in to kiss Tim, and Tim lets him._ _

__“We’re gonna fuck you soon, Rhysie.” Jack breaks his kiss with Tim to murmur against Rhys’ ear, nose brushing against Rhys’ temple. “Both of us, stuffing you full of dick. That’s what you wanted, right?”_ _

__“ _Please_ ,” Rhys says, voice plaintive. He squirms against Tim’s chest, and turns his head to press a kiss to Tim’s neck._ _

__They take a moment to strip, and Tim _feels_ both Rhys and Jack eyeing the fresh scars on his torso, but thankfully, neither of them say anything. Rhys does run a hand over the largest one, three parallel slashes left by a rabid alpha skag on Tim’s left shoulder. Tim can’t really feel his touch, light as it is on the thick scar tissue, but he appreciates the thought, and the sympathetic frown on Rhys’ face._ _

__“Scars are sexy, am I right?” Tim says lightly, catching Rhys’ hand in his own. “Mark of a hero and all that.”_ _

__Over Rhys’ shoulder, Jack’s watching Tim, something contemplative in his gaze._ _

__“Very sexy,” Rhys says eventually. He crawls into Tim’s lap, wraps his arms around Tim’s neck in what Tim’s about 60% sure is a hug, and kisses Tim. Tim kisses back instinctively, slides his hands along Rhys’ sides. When Rhys pulls away, Jack’s there, kissing Tim with something less than his usual demanding urgency. It’s a little bit disconcerting, if Tim’s honest._ _

__“Come on now, get on his dick, bounce time,” Jack pulls away to say to Rhys, thankfully spoiling the moment before Tim feels obliged to think about it too much._ _

__Rhys rolls his eyes, a sentiment that Tim very much agrees with, but obligingly moves to straddle Tim properly._ _

__“Wait. I think it’ll be easier if you faced the other way,” Tim says, hands hovering over Rhys’ waist. He’s not lying, but he also has the feeling it’ll make Jack happier, being able to face Rhys. Win-win-win, with that last win being Tim not having to deal with Jack’s grumpy jealousy._ _

__It works, Tim totally catches the pleased expression that flits across Jack’s face as Rhys moves to straddle Tim, back to Tim’s chest this time._ _

__“Guess I’ll be looking at _your_ handsome face then,” Rhys says, sounding pretty chipper for a guy about to have two decently sized cocks stuffed up his ass. Tim can’t see his expression, but he sees Jack’s, the way Jack looks down at Rhys’ face like he’s found something he’s been searching for ages for._ _

__Well, shit._ _

__Tim glances away, focuses on helping Rhys get comfortable on his lap. When he looks back up, Jack’s kissing Rhys again, face and expression thankfully hidden._ _

__“C’mon, Rhys,” Tim murmurs, tugging Rhys back slowly enough that he’s not breaking their kiss. “Get up now, spread your legs a little.”_ _

__Rhys obeys him blindly, moving where Tim nudges him. He’s too busy clinging on to Jack to be of much help, but Tim eventually manages to get the head of his dick positioned at Rhys’ hole, and then he pulls Rhys down, slowly. Rhys moans, the sound loud even with Jack’s mouth muffling it, as he sinks down on Tim’s dick. Rhys is tight, despite Jack having spent the better part of the last half hour fingering him open, and Tim has to tighten his grip on Rhys’ hips, close his eyes and count._ _

__“How’s it feel, him filling you up?” Jack’s voice comes, breaking into Tim’s attempts to remember which prime number comes after 239. When he opens his eyes, Jack’s got a hand around Rhys’ throat, and the other smoothing back the hair on Rhys’ forehead. His gaze is intent on Rhys, and his voice is very, very soft._ _

__“H-he feels good,” Rhys answers. He lifts his hips a little, then grinds back down, tightening up on Tim. “So good.”_ _

__Tim wraps his arms around Rhys’ chest, presses the nail of his thumb under Rhys’ left nipple to make him whimper. “Imagine how good it’ll be when we’re both in you,” he says, lowering his voice to match Jack’s. He exchanges a smile with Jack at the way that Rhys shivers, entire body shuddering in their arms._ _

__“Hey,” Rhys says, voice a little shaky but with a cheeky edge to it. “If I die from all the great sex we’re gonna have, put it on my tombstone that I died with honour, okay?”_ _

__Jack laughs, full-bellied and genuine. It’s not something Tim’s heard very often before, and Tim can’t help but stare at the way Jack’s eyes crinkle up._ _

__“I’ll make sure they build a monument to you,” Jack promises, eyes still crinkled up as he grins down at Rhys. “Shaped like the dicks that killed you.”_ _

__“Excellent. It’s all I ever wanted.” Rhys settles some more into Tim’s lap. “Now c’mon, dicking time.”_ _

__Tim hooks his hands under Rhys’ knees, and leans back, pulls Rhys’ legs with him to expose Rhys for Jack. The skin of Rhys’ legs is soft, smooth enough that Tim’s pretty sure he shaved right before the session. When Tim strokes his thumbs along where the skin is thin, right over Rhys’ knee bone, Rhys shivers._ _

__Between their legs, Jack slicks his fingers up with more lube, and then drops the bottle carelessly to the bed. When he goes to press a finger at Rhys’ hole, right next to Tim’s cock, Rhys cries out, and shrinks back against Tim._ _

__“Ah-- god that feels-” Rhys stutters out, pressing his hot face against Tim’s neck. “I--I’m fine, I’m fine, keep going,” he gasps out._ _

__“Kiss him,” Jack orders, gaze intent on where his finger is pressing into Rhys. Tim obliges more than happily enough, tilts Rhys’ face up so that he can kiss him while Jack works. Rhys’ kisses are sloppy, mouth slack against Tim’s as he pants raggedly. Tim feels it when Jack adds another finger, the slick lube helping, but not entirely hiding just how tight Rhys is around Tim’s cock and Jack’s fingers. It’s a pretty strange sensation, to have someone’s fingers alongside his dick while he’s in someone else. Even stranger that it’s Jack’s fingers._ _

__“You’re doing really good, Rhys,” Tim murmurs, pressing his mouth to Rhys’ forehead, his cheek, whatever inch of Rhys’ face he can get. He can taste tears, salty on Rhys’ cheek._ _

__“I’m trying,” Rhys says, choking the words out behind a sob. “God, that’s-- it feels--”_ _

__“Yeah, yeah babe.” Jack leans forward, and presses a kiss to the other side of Rhys’ face. “Yeah. Here, help him out a little.” He hands Tim the bottle of lube._ _

__Nodding, Tim slicks a hand up, and goes to stroke at Rhys’ wilting erection. Rhys moans, ragged and thin, as Jack goes back to pressing his fingers in while Tim strokes him off. His lashes are spiky with tears, and his hands reach out, clutching at Jack, at Tim, fingers scrabbling helplessly at everything and nothing as Jack and Tim work to take him apart. Tim lets him, drops his chin on Rhys’ shoulder to help ground him._ _

__As he does so, he watches Jack, who has his eyes intent on Rhys, and doesn’t seem to notice Tim watching. Jack’s gaze is intense at the best of times. Now, as he whispers filthy promises to Rhys while he fingerfucks him alongside Tim’s dick, his gaze is practically searing, focused and bright on Rhys’ face. In Rhys’ place, Tim would have looked away by now, but Rhys keeps his eyes on Jack, wide and teary as he nods along to whatever Jack says._ _

__Soon though, Jack pulls his fingers away. It feels oddly weird, without them pressing against Tim’s dick, but then Jack’s dick is there, pressing in and making Rhys whine._ _

__“Shh, shh, relax, kiddo, daddy’s got you,” Jack murmurs, pressing his forehead to Rhys’. His eyes are closed, his brows furrowed, and Tim doesn’t blame him because- it’s _intense_ , how tight Rhys is around them, how strangely arousing it is to have Jack’s dick pressed tight to Tim’s, the closeness of their three bodies making everything heightened, and Tim wonders what it must be like for Rhys, how overwhelming it must be._ _

__Very much so, going by the way Rhys is practically frozen between them, breath coming in shallow pants as Jack presses in inch by inch. His chest moves in quick little bursts, and his hands are white knuckled around Jack’s biceps. When Tim glances down to check on him, Rhys has a look of almost pained concentration on his face, brows furrowed and biting down on his lower lip as he’s filled up._ _

__Eventually though, Jack’s all the way in, hairy thighs scratchy beneath Tim’s and his body pressed in close, bracketing Rhys between them. It’s a tight fit, the closeness of both Rhys and Jack pressing in on him making everything feel really heated. Tim clings to Rhys, holds them both steady as Jack starts slowly thrusting._ _

__It’s- it’s good, really fucking good. Emphasis on fucking._ _

__Jack laughs, short and strained, and Tim realises he’d said that last bit out loud. Between them, Rhys lets out a little wheeze of laughter too. He’s still tense, body strung tight like a wire, but his cock in Tim’s hand is hard. Tim slaps at Jack’s chest, making him pause, and reaches down between Rhys’ legs to cover Jack’s cock with more lube. This time, when Jack thrusts in, the almost painful tightness from before gives way to a slick, delicious glide, Jack’s dick moving easily against Tim’s. It’s good enough that Tim has to muffle a moan against Rhys’ shoulder. His moan is echoed by Rhys, who arches, one of his legs kicking out as he starts moving his hips, grinding down on both their cocks._ _

__“Jack- a little more-- yeah, yeah there,” Rhys gasps. Going by the way he’s crying out on every thrust Jack makes, and the way that he’s tightening down rhythmically, Tim’s pretty sure Jack’s hitting Rhys’ prostate. “I’m close, oh- oh right there!”_ _

__Rhys stiffens up in Tim’s arms, entire body curling in on himself, on Jack, and then he’s coming all over Tim’s hand, shuddering and oddly silent. When Tim glances down, he sees that Rhys has bitten down on his lip hard enough that there’s blood. Then his view of Rhys’ face is blocked as Jack darts in, licks up the tiny trickle of blood and kisses Rhys, hips speeding up as he starts fucking in harder, faster. The slap of his hips against Tim’s thighs is almost painful, all three of their bodies jerking with each thrust Jack makes, and Tim thinks, a little deliriously, that Jack’s hairy thighs against his own should really not be that hot._ _

__Then Jack’s pulling away from Rhys’ mouth to kiss Tim, and Tim’s coming, Rhys’ blood a salty tang on his tongue and Rhys’ name pressed against his lips as Jack comes, almost right with Tim._ _

__\---_ _

__From what Nisha’s told Tim about Jack’s sex habits, Jack’s the kind to fall asleep right after, and _cling_ while he sleeps. Because it’s Nisha, the clinginess is something she’s complained about a _lot_ , so Tim’s not surprised when Jack, still clinging to Rhys, pulls out and rolls onto his back, taking Rhys’ limp body with him like he’s holding onto a pillow. A very limp pillow, with a smugly satisfied grin on his face._ _

__Tim glances down, between Rhys’ carelessly splayed legs, at where both his and Jack’s come is beginning to trickle out of Rhys’ fucked open hole, and decides that cleanup can probably wait. He wriggles down on the bed, so he’s lying next to them, and traces the line of Rhys’ tattoo, blue on the pale skin of his chest._ _

__“This is new,” he comments._ _

__“Hm?” Rhys, sprawled over Jack’s chest, cracks open an eye. “Oh! Yeah, I got it around the same time as I got the upgrade.” He gestures at his ECHOeye._ _

__“Nice. How’s it so far?”_ _

__Rhys perks up. “It’s _awesome_ ,” he says. “Now I can turn my alarm off without even moving from bed.”_ _

__Beneath Rhys, Jack snorts, and tightens his arms around Rhys’ chest. “Lazy,” he says, voice little more than a low grumble._ _

__Rhys sniffs, and wriggles off Jack’s body. Or tries to, because Jack, with all that clinginess Nisha has complained about, keeps his arms firmly wrapped around Rhys. Tim watches their little struggle with amusement, because there are few things less dignified than two grown naked men trying to cuddle/not-cuddle._ _

__Eventually, they settle on Rhys lying on the bed between Jack and Tim, with Jack spooned up next to him, one hairy arm flung over Rhys’ chest._ _

__“Here, look what I can do now,” Rhys says, and raises his right hand. It’s a different make from the one Tim remembers, a little sleeker, less boxy, but still a bright Hyperion yellow. As he watches, Rhys projects a small screen with code all over it. It starts scrolling as Rhys’ ECHOeye glows blue. “My current project. Uh, don’t look too closely at it because I don’t think I’ve actually got the security clearance to show you guys what I’m working on for Henderson.”_ _

__It’s pretty cool, and Tim tells Rhys so. The proud look on his face is pretty cute, and Tim doesn’t resist the urge to duck in for a kiss, which Rhys laughs into and returns, projection disappearing as his hand goes to curl around Tim’s neck._ _

__Kissing Rhys turns into touching Rhys, which turns into Jack joining in, and it doesn’t take long till Tim’s got a leg between Rhys’, giving him something to grind against as they make out. Rhys’ cock is hard against Tim’s thigh, and he hitches his hips up against Tim’s, while Jack plays with Rhys’ nipples and sucks bruises into Rhys’ neck._ _

__“You wanna fuck him this time?” Jack asks, licking at his latest mark. “I want his mouth on my cock.”_ _

__“Do I not get a say in this at all?” Rhys asks, though his attempt at sounding indignant is somewhat marred by how breathlessly aroused he is._ _

__“Nope.” Tim kisses him._ _

__“It’s _my_ birthday,” Rhys points out, voice cracking off into a moan as Jack pinches his nipple and twists._ _

__“You telling me you don’t want to suck me off while he fucks you?” Jack asks, giving Tim a smirk over Rhys’ shoulder. “Can you really say that, birthday boy?”_ _

__Rhys rolls his eyes, but the bright flush on his cheeks and the way his erection is hot against Tim tells another story._ _

__“Sandwiched between us, letting us use you like our personal fucktoy?” Jack continues, one of his hands going down to play with the head of Rhys’ cock. Tim shuffles down, goes to lick at the abandoned nipple, flicking his tongue against the hard nub to make Rhys whine. A hand slides into his hair, and when he glances up, Jack’s giving him an approving nod._ _

__“I-I might be amenable to that,” Rhys says breathlessly, arching up into Tim’s mouth and Jack’s hands._ _

__“Good.” Jack pulls away and sits up, ignoring Rhys’ disappointed exclamation. Tim sits up, and grins down at Rhys’ flushed face. On the other side of Rhys, Jack runs a hand down Rhys’ chest, digs his fingers into the thin skin of his abdomen. “C’mon, kiddo. Time to get your mouth on daddy’s cock.”_ _

__Tim doesn’t hold in his eyeroll at that, but Rhys seems really into it, going by the way his dick twitches, and he practically jumps to attention, flush spreading to his ears. Tim follows along, at a more sedate pace because he doesn’t have a daddy kink the size of Helios, and kneels up behind Rhys, who moves to lie between Jack’s legs. He nudges Rhys into lifting his hips up, and places a hand on the small of Rhys’ back._ _

__“You know, they call this position spit roasting,” Jack says, watching as Tim and Rhys move into place. “Does that make Rhys a turkey?”_ _

__“Stop,” Tim says, closing his eyes and trying to forget the ridiculous grin on Jack’s face. “I don’t care if this is out of character. Please just stop.”_ _

__“Agreed,” Rhys says, and reaches down to take hold of Jack’s dick. “That is the least sexy thing you’ve ever said. Since it’s my birthday, I’m making it a rule that we don’t talk about me as a turkey.”_ _

__Jack pouts, an expression that he does _not_ carry off as well as Rhys does, but thankfully desists. He spreads his legs, and tugs Rhys down, hands grabbing at Rhys’ head rather rudely. Rhys goes more than willingly enough though, ducks down and rubs his cheek against Jack’s cock. It leaves him with his ass up right in front of Tim, which- it’s a good view. Very good indeed._ _

__Tim spreads his hands over Rhys’ ass, admiring the way his tanned, scarred hands look on Rhys’ pale skin. When he squeezes, Rhys lets out a muffled yelp, and Jack laughs._ _

__“He has a nice ass, doesn’t he?” Jack says, and cards his fingers through Rhys’ hair. “So good at taking dick, and pretty to boot.”_ _

__“Look, he’s all red where we fucked him.” Tim pulls Rhys’ cheeks apart, and watches as Rhys’ now exposed hole, red and slick with lube and come, twitches. When Tim presses a finger to it, it slides in easily, Rhys’ well-fucked hole just taking him in without resistance. As Tim slides a second finger in, come dribbles out, pushed out by his curious fingers. Rhys whimpers, and arches his back, practically presenting himself to Tim._ _

__“There you go, there’s a good boy,” Jack says. “My good little cockslut. Come on now, tongue out.”_ _

__Between them, Rhys whines. Tim can’t really see what’s going on in Jack’s crotch, because Rhys’ head is in the way, but going by Jack’s harsh exhalation, Rhys is doing exactly what Jack’s telling him to do._ _

__Tim’s got better things to concern himself with though, like the way Rhys’ hole is clenching down tight on his fingers. He twists them, enjoying the obscene, wet sound as lube and come spill out. A third finger goes in, not as easy as the first two, but with less resistance than it normally would. Tim stretches them, and grins at the way Rhys cries out, voice muffled around Jack’s cock._ _

__Jack’s now got his hands on Rhys’ face, arousal-darkened eyes intent as he murmurs filthy encouragement._ _

__“Yeah, that’s it baby, take it all in.”_ _

__The words aren’t directed at Tim, but Tim shivers anyway, because something about Jack’s tone, the way his hands are cradling Rhys’ head...it’s painfully intimate, despite the lewdness of what they’re doing._ _

__To distract himself, Tim fits the head of his cock to Rhys’ hole, and pushes in. It’s delightfully obscene, the way Rhys’ reddened hole just swallows up his cock with no resistance, and Tim can’t help but groan. It’s echoed by Rhys, who pauses in his sucking of Jack’s cock to pull off and say, “Ohhhh _fuck_.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Tim agrees, hands tightening on Rhys’ cheeks. He squeezes, enjoying the give of Rhys’ flesh and the way Rhys whimpers, tightens up on him. That it also lets him better see the way his cock thrusts in and out of Rhys is only a plus. He starts up a slow pace, not wanting to jostle Rhys._ _

__“You like that?” Jack’s voice is darkly amused. “Filled up in both ends with cock, that good for you?”_ _

__“Mmhfngh.” Rhys’ agreement is muffled, but enthusiastic._ _

__“Think you can take daddy’s cock all the way down this time?”_ _

__Rhys whimpers, but goes for it. Tim can hear the lewd, choked off noises and Rhys’ frantic breaths as Jack slowly pulls Rhys’ head down on his cock. Rhys’ hands are flexing, practically scrabbling at the bedsheets on either side of Jack’s hips as he tries to breathe, but Jack doesn’t let up, holds Rhys there until Rhys is practically sobbing, chest heaving and hands clenched in fists as the wet, choking sounds intensify._ _

__When Jack finally lets go, Rhys’ head pops up, and he coughs, still sobbing, before his head drops to Jack’s thigh and he breathes, taking in huge gulps of air. Tim bites back a moan as Rhys clenches down on his cock with every cough, tightening almost painfully._ _

__“So good, such a good boy for daddy.” Jack combs his fingers through Rhys’ hair, something proud and fierce in his gaze as he stares down at Rhys. “You did so good, baby.”_ _

__Rhys mumbles something, face still pressed into Jack’s thigh. Tim doesn’t catch it, but he catches the almost tender look that passes over Jack’s face._ _

__“I’m proud of you Rhysie, you’re my good boy. Ready to try and take daddy’s cock all the way in again?”_ _

__Rhys nods shakily, and pushes himself up. This time, when he bends down over Jack’s dick again, Tim reaches around and takes hold of Rhys’ dick. He doesn’t stroke it or anything, not wanting to distract Rhys _that_ much, but it does seem to help, going by Rhys’ thankful noise. With his other hand, he rubs soothingly along the line of Rhys’ spine, reminds him to breathe through his nose._ _

__Between Tim’s helping hands and Jack’s murmured encouragement, Rhys actually manages to make it all the way down. Tim stares down, half-amazed and half-envious at the way Rhys has taken Jack all the way in, nose pressed to the dark hair at Jack’s crotch._ _

__“Ohhh fuck, you did it Rhysie, good boy, I’m so proud of you,” Jack rambles, brows furrowed as he stares down at Rhys. “God, your throat feels so tight, so fucking tight.”_ _

__“You’re doing good, Rhys,” Tim chimes in, tightening his hand around Rhys’ cock. “You look so good around his cock, you have no idea.”_ _

__Rhys moans, which must feel really fucking good, because Jack lets out a strangled sound._ _

__“D-do that again,” Jack urges, breath coming heavy as he grinds up into Rhys’ mouth. “Show daddy how much you like being filled up. Yeah, yeah that’s it, that’s it, swallow it all down.”_ _

__As Tim watches, Jack groans, flings his head back, and tightens his hands in Rhys’ hair, holding him down in a way that looks almost painful. The moans that Rhys is letting out are almost frantic, but he must keep swallowing, because finally, with a grunt, Jack pulls Rhys off, and his cock slips out, softened and obscenely wet._ _

__Rhys coughs, almost wheezing as he slumps down into Jack’s lap, definitely crying in earnest now. Jack immediately pulls him up, hands cupped around Rhys’ jaw as he sits up and starts kissing Rhys, peppering sloppy kisses all over Rhys’ face as he murmurs praise, tells Rhys he’s a good boy. Rhys shakes in Jack’s arms, clings on to Jack’s shoulders and tries to kiss back, but he’s trembling, letting out little whines of pleasure as Tim starts stroking him off._ _

__“I-Jack, I’m gonna--”_ _

__“Yeah, baby boy, come for us, come for daddy.”_ _

__“Ha-ah, fuck, _fuck_!”_ _

__Almost as if he’s been waiting for Jack’s permission, Rhys comes, hips jerking between Tim’s cock and hand without rhythm as he cries out Jack’s name and spills over Tim’s hand._ _

__When Tim brings his come-covered hand up, Rhys starts licking at it, hot and wet and sloppy. After everything, _despite_ everything, Tim comes to that, to Jack’s intent gaze on Rhys’ mouth, and the feeling of Rhys’ tongue against Tim’s fingers and Rhys tight around Tim’s cock. He’s pretty sure he loses a few seconds just muffling his pleasure into Rhys’ shoulder._ _

__He slumps down onto the bed, taking a boneless Rhys in his arms with him. Next to them, Jack’s still sitting up, but looking pretty boneless himself. When he catches Tim’s gaze, he grins lazily, the dazed pleasure on his face taking some of the usual edge off his shark grin._ _

__“Pretty good, eh?” He says, and leans over Rhys and Tim’s prone forms to kiss Tim._ _

__Tim lets him take control of the kiss, still feeling the echoes of his orgasm too much to really do anything more. Jack seems to like his sated acquiescence, going by the way he rumbles, sounding like a satisfied cat. Between them, Rhys shifts, and makes an appreciative sound, left hand coming up to slip a finger between Tim and Jack’s mouths._ _

__Jack laughs, and bites down on Rhys’ finger before pulling away, grinning down at Rhys’ feeble, sleepy attempt at poking him in the face in retaliation. He lies down next to Tim, and slings an arm around Rhys’ waist, fingers curling around Tim’s side in a way that’s almost ticklish._ _

__On top of Tim, Rhys shifts, one bony elbow poking into Tim’s chest._ _

__“Sorry, sorry,” Rhys says, not sounding sorry at all. He reaches down, takes Jack’s hand, and lifts it, fingers pale against Jack’s more tanned ones. As Tim watches, Rhys brings Jack’s hand to his mouth and kisses it, then presses it to his cheek._ _

__“This was really great,” Rhys says, voice scratchy in a way that makes Tim’s cock twitch. “Thank you, John.”_ _

__“Yeah?” Jack says, and tugs, pulling Rhys towards him._ _

__Rhys rolls off Tim’s chest and into Jack’s arms, with some help from Tim and Jack. It’s a little uncoordinated, and Rhys is giggling a little drunkenly as they manhandle him, but they eventually manage to get Rhys draped facedown over Jack with a minimum of elbows in painful places._ _

__Feeling a little chilly now that Rhys isn’t lying on him anymore, Tim rolls to his side, and watches as Rhys, a streak of drying come still on his cheek and mouth still a bruised looking red, tilts his head just enough to press a kiss to the corner of Jack’s mouth. Jack immediately turns into it, mouth searching for Rhys’ as Rhys laughs, and returns Jack’s demand for a kiss, and then another. Tim doesn’t miss the way Jack’s hands tighten on Rhys’ waist, or the way Jack’s lips catch on Rhys’, tender and too intimate for Tim to continue watching._ _

__Tim rolls back onto his back, and stares up at the ceiling, gives them whatever privacy he can as he lies on the same bed, with all three of them buck naked. He’s not sure he can even tell Nisha about this. Whatever this is._ _

__When he glances back, it’s just in time to catch them pulling apart. Rhys turns his head, and gives Tim a sleepy grin._ _

__“This was the best day ever,” he mumbles sleepily, one hand reaching out to pat at Tim’s face clumsily. He then lifts his head, gives Jack a kiss to the bolt on his chin, before tucking his head into the crook of Jack’s shoulder, making a pleased little sound as he goes. It’s kinda cute, and it only gets cuter when he starts snoring almost immediately, entire body relaxed against Jack. It’s...cute. It’s really cute, and Tim feels a little pang in his chest as he looks at Rhys, at the way the hair on the back of his neck is still a little damp with sweat, with one particular brown curl following the curve of his ear._ _

__When he remembers himself, he glances up to check that Jack hasn’t noticed him staring. The relief that he feels when he realises Jack’s eyes are closed is immediately taken over by a sinking feeling as he realises that Jack looks...content. The usual lines on his face are eased away, and there’s a relaxed line to his lips that Tim doesn’t think he’s ever seen before._ _

___Oh_ , Tim thinks. _Oh no_. There’s no way he’s going to be able to tell Nisha about this._ _

__Almost as if he can hear Tim’s thoughts, Jack opens his eyes, and turns his head to catch Tim’s gaze. The content look immediately drops off his face, only to be replaced with a scowl._ _

__“Shut up,” he mouths at Tim, despite the fact that Tim hasn’t said anything._ _

__Rolling his eyes, Tim shoves his own emotions aside to deal with later, and starts extricating himself from the bed as carefully as he can, so as not to wake Rhys up. Once he’s safe and off the bed, he turns back to Jack, who’s still watching him. Jack had mentioned at some point during the car ride that he’d booked the room overnight, but Tim has absolutely no reason to stay here and be party to their...whatever._ _

__“I’m done here, right?” Tim says, keeping his voice hushed. At Jack’s nod, Tim turns to dress himself again. It takes a while to separate the various parts of his outfit from Jack’s, but once he’s fully dressed he heads back to the bed, where it looks like Jack’s about to join Rhys in sleep._ _

__“Hey, Jack?” Tim waits for Jack to crack an eye open before continuing, keeping his voice low. “This?” He gestures at Rhys and Jack. “It’s called a crush.”_ _

__He doesn’t wait to see Jack’s face before turning and heading out._ _

__\---_ _

__Two days later, he’s back down in Lynchwood, stealing some of the cookies he’d brought for Nisha._ _

__When his ECHOtab pings, he has half a mind to ignore it, so he does. Two minutes later though, Nisha nudges his thigh with her foot, and says “It’s Jack. He texted me to tell you to check your messages.”_ _

__Groaning, Tim sits up, and picks his ECHOtab up from the coffee table. It’s actually more of a raw slab of wood, but since Nisha uses it to prop her feet up when she’s on the couch, he figures it’s a coffee table in principle._ _

__Nisha, stretched out and taking up most of the couch, eyes him from beneath heavy lids as he thumbs between Jack’s messages._ _

__“What’s he want?” She asks, her own ECHOtab now dropped carelessly to the floor. “He better have a good reason for interrupting our movie marathon.”_ _

__Tim doesn’t really think watching old trials and executions from Lynchwood counts as a movie marathon, but with Nisha, it’s better to leave these things unsaid. Instead, he silently hands her his ECHOtab, so she can read Jack’s messages for herself._ _

__“Really?” She says, once she’s done reading. She meets Tim’s gaze, and they exchange an eyeroll._ _

__“I told you, he’s crushing hard.” Tim takes his tablet back, and rereads Jack’s messages._ _

__> > This is Rhys’ number. Go on a date with him._ _

__> > Bring him to that place on 3rd Boulevard. He wants to go there._ _

__> > NOT A CRUSH._ _

__“Yunno,” Nisha says contemplatively, waving a half-eaten cookie in the air. Crumbs break off to land on her t-shirt, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “In hindsight, we should’ve seen Jack’s sugar daddy tendencies from miles away.”_ _

__Tim eyes her, and then her apartment, in the town that Jack had given to her as a present. “Yeah,” is all he says though, because this is not the hill he wants to die on._ _

__“Still, I never thought he’d do it for a _fanboy_. Tell me about this Rhys, Timmy. How’s he different from those idiots who collect Jack’s spit and keep a running count of how many times Jack’s punched them?” Nisha frowns. “Or those weirdos who try to break into his apartment to steal his underwear.”_ _

__“Whoa. Do those actually happen?” Tim asks, intrigued despite himself._ _

__“Yeah, Jack was complaining about how he had to pay the apartment’s security extra because the bodies were piling up.”_ _

__Tim makes a face as he sets the ECHOtab back down on the coffee table. It pings, no doubt Jack again, but he ignores it._ _

__“Once, I think a guy actually got _into_ Jack’s place. He let me have that one.” Nisha bites down on the cookie, staring into the middle distance as she reminisces. “That was fun.”_ _

__“I can only imagine,” Tim says drily._ _

__“So. This Rhys guy…” Nisha turns her sharp gaze onto Tim. “What’s he like?”_ _

__Tim slumps back onto the couch, head thunking against the back, and stares up at the ceiling to avoid her gaze._ _

__“He’s...cute. Kinda shameless, and really demanding and mouthy in bed.”_ _

__“Mm. Fun. Definitely see why Jack’s into him so far.” Nisha wriggles further down the sofa, props her feet up in Tim’s lap. “Keep going.”_ _

__Tim thinks for a moment, hands going instinctively to massage out the knots in her calves and feet. She always did have a problem with her left ankle. “He’s...genuine, I think,” Tim says eventually. “For all he’s as smug and Hyperion as they come, there’s something real about him, beneath that veneer. You get that a lot more often down here, but up there, it’s weirdly hard to find.”_ _

__“It’s all that space,” Nisha murmurs. “Makes you guys funny in the head.”_ _

__“If you say so.”_ _

__Silence falls over Nisha’s living room, as Tim thinks about Rhys, and Jack’s crush. The last time Jack had a crush on someone, it’d been Nisha, and he’d ended up doing pretty much the same things he was doing now with Rhys: fling money, make sexual innuendos, and just generally be really obnoxious and obtuse. It was kind of embarrassing to watch from the sidelines, if Tim was being honest, but at least back then, Jack’s crush hadn’t ended up in Tim doing a threesome with Jack and said crush. This thing with Rhys and the Pleasure Palace is whole new territory, and Tim’s pretty sure he doesn’t want anything to do with it._ _

__“You should go on that date with him.” Nisha’s voice breaks through Tim’s thoughts._ _

__“What?” Tim chokes, and sits up straight. “Why would I want to do that!”_ _

__“Because it’d be funny,” Nisha says, _duh_ heavily implied._ _

__“Yeah, funny until Jack decides that he _does_ like Rhys, and that I’m competition, and airlocks me for following his instructions and dating Rhys.” Tim digs his knuckle into the arch of Nisha’s foot extra hard, just to make her wince. It doesn’t work, going by her pleased moan._ _

__“I dunno, that sounds pretty funny to me.”_ _

__“ _Nisha_.”_ _

__“Okay, kidding. Sort of. Maybe you can tell Rhys the truth on the date, and straighten things out between them.”_ _

__They both pause, and think over it for a whole second before saying “Nah” in unison._ _

__“Yeah, that’d never work.” Tim sighs. “I have to admit, it’d be pretty funny to see Rhys’ face when he finds out though. He’s always talking about how hot and cool Jack is.”_ _

__Nisha snorts. “He should see Jack whining about Pandora sometime. It’s embarrassing, a grown man throwing a temper tantrum like that.”_ _

__“Tell me about it…”_ _

__“At the very least though, maybe seeing you go on a date with Rhys will make him jealous enough that he realises he’s got a crush.” Nisha reaches out to the coffee table, and takes another cookie. When she continues talking, it’s accompanied by a spray of crumbs. “And you can always hide here until the two of them get their shit sorted out, and then he’ll be too busy getting his dick sucked to be angry for long.”_ _

__“Mm, true.”_ _

__“Plus, no matter what, you get to go on a date with a cute guy.” Nisha pauses. “He _is_ cute, right?”_ _

__Tim thinks about Rhys’ face, the pout that it falls into naturally and the way his eyes get soft when he smiles. “Very.”_ _

__“There you go.” Nisha makes a satisfied noise, perhaps at her conclusion, or more likely at the cookie in her mouth. “Just go on the date with him.”_ _

__“Fine,” Tim groans, and sits up to grab his ECHOtab again. There are 6 more messages from Jack, all some variety of demanding Tim answer him, or instructions on how to treat Rhys. Tim ignores them with great pleasure to tell Jack that he’ll be using Jack’s card for the date._ _


	6. Chapter 6 - Rhys

Rhys spends the better part of the night before his date picking an outfit. Vaughn, stretched out on the sofa in their shared apartment, isn’t particularly impressed, or interested, but Rhys enlists his help anyway.

“Blue sweater, or black?” Rhys holds both options out, and stares at Vaughn expectantly.

“Blue,” Vaughn says, without even looking up from where he’s playing a game on his ECHOtab.

“You didn’t even _look_ \--”

“I don’t need to look to know that you’re holding up that blue sweater you always wear when you want to impress someone. You’ve said, and I quote, that it _makes your skin look really creamy and both your eyes stand out_.” Vaughn looks up just long enough to roll his eyes at Rhys.

“I have not!” Rhys says, affronted. “Probably,” he amends, at Vaughn’s raised eyebrow.

He can’t help it if the sweater is really nice. And it _does_ make his eyes stand out.

“You have, and you’re right. It’s a nice sweater.” Vaughn relents enough to give Rhys a thumbs up, because even when he’s being painfully truthful, he’s still the best bro ever.

“It is,” Rhys says, mollified. He looks over the sweater with a critical eye. It’s one of his favourites, favourite enough that he sends it to the expensive laundry place in the North Corridor instead of washing it in their apartment’s basement, because it’s that nice. It’s as soft as a cloud, clings in all the right ways to make Rhys look even slimmer and taller, and it really does bring out his eyes. He carefully places it over the back of the couch for tomorrow.

“I dunno why you’re so fussed though,” Vaughn says, attention already back to his game. “I’m sure you guys have already seen each other naked.”

“That,” Rhys says as he folds the rejected sweater to place back in his drawer. “Is exactly why I’m putting in so much effort.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, but you’re right. It’s weird, right? To go on a date with someone you’ve basically only ever had sex with.” Vaughn wrinkles his nose at the mention of Rhys and sex, but Rhys continues, heedless. “Though I mean, I think others have done it before, because when I asked if he could even date clients, he said it was totally fine and he had permission.”

Vaughn’s attention is firmly on his game, but he seems willing enough to listen, so Rhys plops down next to Vaughn to watch, and continues talking. It’s actually easier, with Vaughn not directly looking at him.

“I just- I dunno, is it bad if I kinda wish it was John who’d contacted me instead? I thought he never did because they weren’t _allowed_ to, but if Tim could, that means John...just didn’t want to, I guess.”

“Which one’s John again?” Vaughn, for all he is _the_ best bro, can sometimes be very callous.

“The one I’ve been doing all these recent sessions with.” Rhys lets out a happy sigh at the thought of all their recent sessions. With the special membership discount he has now, he’s actually spending _less_ than he used to on his monthly sessions, even though he’s been meeting John every Friday for a few months now. Every session has been just as amazing as their first; John has the Jack persona down _perfectly_ , and an incredible talent for taking Rhys’ vague or unvoiced kinks and turning them into a better reality than he could ever imagine.

Once, Rhys had mentioned offhand how he’s always wanted to try out getting tied up. Two sessions later, he’d walked into their room expecting their usual session, only to end up getting a kidnapping scenario that had left him with rope marks around his wrists for days, and a new favourite spankbank memory.

“Ugh, you’re thinking about sex with him right now, aren’t you?” Vaughn’s voice comes, breaking into Rhys’ reminiscence. When Rhys glances over guiltily, Vaughn’s not even looking up from his game, but he’s got his nose wrinkled in distaste.

“No,” Rhys lies. Vaughn’s answering snort sounds entirely unconvinced. “But anyway, John’s not the issue, since he clearly isn’t interested enough to get my number.”

He tries not to let the disappointment he’s feeling bleed through in his voice. Disappointment, and hurt, if he’s being honest. He really had thought that there had been _something_ between him and John.

“But Tim is,” Vaughn says, still the best bro even though he’s not even paying all that much attention to Rhys.

“Yes!” Rhys perks up. “Tim is. He’s even bringing us to that place on 3rd Boulevard, you know, that one that gets its ingredients flash-frozen straight from the Edens.”

Vaughn gasps, actually full-on gasps, and sits up straight, game abandoned. “What? _How_! That place is fully reserved till next year, last I checked.”

“Oh?” Rhys eyes him. “It’s going that well with that _friend_ of yours in accounting, eh?”

Vaughn flushes, pink beneath his glasses. “Maybe,” he says, with an air of a man who definitely has a good thing going. “I don’t wanna jinx it yet, so.”

“That’s cool bro,” Rhys says immediately, moving to sling an arm around Vaughn’s shoulders. “And if you ever need it, you know where to find the best hype man this side of Helios. It’s me. I’m your guy. Your man. Buddy. Bro. Head cheerleader.”

Vaughn laughs, and shoves Rhys away, but not too hard. “Okay, okay, I get it.” He groans, but he looks pleased enough, face still pink like it always gets when he talks about his _friend_. “Anyway, how’d you swing a reservation?”

“I dunno, Tim took care of it. I guess being a double of Handsome Jack gets you special perks.”

“Must be nice,” Vaughn says wistfully. “Other than having the face and all.”

“Hey!” Rhys kicks at Vaughn half-heartedly.

“Oh, that’s right. You _like_ that face.” Vaughn gives Rhys an all too familiar judgmental expression. “Anybody ever tell you you have bad taste, bro?”

“Yes, you and ‘Vette. All the time.” Rhys rolls his eyes. “Anyway, so. The sweater. Classy enough for 3rd Boulevard?”

Vaughn squints at Rhys, and then at the sweater, and then back at Rhys. “You’re good,” he finally says. “You’ve probably got nothing to worry about though, since he’s already seen you naked.”

“Mm,” Rhys says, thinking about his past sessions with Tim. “Very naked.”

“Ew. Oh, ew, ew.” Vaughn groans, and stands up, covering his eyes with his hands. “Come _on_ , bro. Not in front of me!” He heads towards his bedroom, giving Rhys the double finger as he goes.

“Sorry,” Rhys calls out unapologetically. “I love you bro!”

“You’re gross,” comes Vaughn’s answer. “Good luck with your gross date tomorrow.” His bedroom door slams shut, and Rhys is left alone in the living room with his sweater. He eyes the blue one, trying to decide if it’s worth the trouble to iron the shirt he’s going to wear beneath it.

“Nah,” he says aloud, and flops across the sofa, stretching out over it now that he’s got it to himself. In less than 24 hours, he’s going on a date with Tim. The sentence sounds strange when he thinks about it like that, but it also leaves him with a warm, tentatively hopeful feeling in his chest.

Rhys buries his face into the sofa cushions, which only smell mildly like old socks, takeout and the weird Pandoran crackers that Vaughn likes so much, and lets himself hope, just a little. Nobody’s around to see, after all.

\---

“Hey, you made it!” Tim looks up from his ECHOtab, and greets Rhys with a smile. Rhys returns it, more than a little giddy at the fact that he’s going on a date. With _Tim_. “Sorry about asking you to come out earlier at the last minute.”

“No, it’s fine, it gave me an excuse to leave the office early.” Rhys can’t help but notice the stares being thrown their way as Tim reaches out, and takes Rhys’ hand. It’s flattering, a little intimidating, and kind of exhilarating. He’s suddenly really glad that the hand Tim happened to take was the metal one, because his flesh one feels really sweaty right now. “So, what’s this last minute surprise?”

“It’s this fair thing, here, this way.”

Tim leads them away from the fast-travel station, seemingly inured to the curious and envious glances thrown their way. He’s dressed casually, in civilian clothing, so it’s pretty obvious he’s a double and not Jack, but eyes linger nonetheless. Although, as Rhys glances sidelong at Tim, he doesn’t really blame them, because…well.

It never really gets _cold_ on Helios, since the entire place is atmo-controlled, but it’s definitely not warm either. Not unless you go deep down into Helios’ inner engineering centers. Most of Helios’ denizens, Rhys included, tend towards layers. Tim though, is wearing just a plain white t-shirt and jeans, both of which _cling_ to the muscles of his body in ways that Rhys can only envy.

So he doesn’t blame the people on the street for staring, because he’s finding it hard not to keep his eyes off Tim and his biceps either.

“Fair? I didn’t know they had those on Helios.” Rhys says, trailing along behind Tim. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one, outside of holovids.” They turn a corner, and to a part of Helios that Rhys has never been to.

“It doesn’t happen very often.” Tim turns, and grins at Rhys, a boyish grin that fits perfectly with his carelessly tousled hair and the loose set of his shoulders. He looks relaxed, completely at ease, and Rhys feels a bit of his own nervousness ease. “A bunch of the Sector 9C people came from Demophos, where they’ve apparently got festivals and carnivals happening every other day. So once in awhile, they set a fair up here, the closest thing they can get without having to go get permits. The location changes around every time, but I know a guy.”

“You know a guy,” Rhys repeats, caught up helplessly in Tim’s enthusiasm, the way his eyes light up as they turn a corner, and into a cramped alleyway filled with colourful, messy tents. “Of course you do.”

“Yeah, and if you’re lucky, he’ll even let me win a few rounds of his rigged game.” Tim rolls his eyes conspiratorially at Rhys. “I swear, Max earns more credits fleecing his fellow Hyperion coworkers than he does at his proper job.”

“Very Hyperion. Maybe I should get some pointers from him.”

Tim snorts. “That’d be something to see.”

He leads them through the rows of white tents, dazzling in their variety of food and games and merchandise. Rhys finds it hard to not gape like some kind of bumpkin, but he’s definitely doing at least a little staring. It’s hard not to, when one stall has what looks like the pelts of some animal more bizarre than anything Rhys has ever seen on Pandora or his home planet, and another has a strange, mysterious glass and wire contraption filled with bubbling, sparkling green liquid.

“Whoa,” Rhys breathes out, the word slipping out despite his best efforts to try and play it cool.

Tim glances back, and grins at Rhys’ expression. “Pretty cool, eh?”

“Very cool.” Rhys gives up on not gawking, and lets his gaze travel around, take in the sights. “How long does it even take to set all this stuff up?”

“Surprisingly shorter than you’d think. I’d suspect black magic, except I’ve watched them do it with my own eyes.”

They stop in the middle of the alleyway, and Tim turns to Rhys. His lips are quirked in a genuine smile, and there’s something alive in his eyes.

“We’ve got about an hour before our dinner reservations, so. What d’you wanna do first?”

\---

They wander around the tents, Tim indulging Rhys’ curiosity as Rhys goes right for anything and everything that looks the slightest bit interesting. The green liquid contraption turns out to be made from Elpis’ moonstones, meant to induce a sense of euphoria and zero-g in the drinker. Rhys is tempted, much more so than he had been with the fancy fur collection, but he resists for his wallet’s sake. And also because Tim murmurs into Rhys’ ear that he knows someone who owns a bar on Elpis itself who can get Tim the same drink for a quarter of the price.

“You seem to know a lot of people,” Rhys says as they circle back to where they first started, now with snacks in hand. The fair is a chaotic mess that spans across multiple blocks, popping up in alleyways and then disappearing before cropping up in another alley way two streets over. Rhys kind of loves it.

Tim looks up from the schnitzel he’s stuffing his face with, and shrugs. “Being Jack’s double gives you lots of opportunities to travel.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re the first double, right?” Rhys picks at his mini-donuts as they turn the corner and start heading towards the starside pier. “What was it like?”

Tim chews on his schnitzel slowly, and doesn’t answer for a good few seconds.

“Eye-opening,” he says finally, not looking at Rhys. “I got to see a lot of stuff, things I’d never dreamed existed before I joined Hyperion. Don’t really get to see much of that anymore, now that there are so many more of us.”

Rhys gives him a sidelong glance, and continues to pick at his mini-donuts silently. There’s something wistful, almost regretful in Tim’s voice.

“Life’s a lot safer now though,” Tim continues, perking up a little. “Not as much jumping over magma pools or getting into shootouts on the moon. Now, even when Jack sends me off-base on missions, it’s never to the really bad places.”

“Really?” They reach the pier, and find seats at a bench. This side of Helios, the viewing deck looks out into the starlit darkness of space. It makes for a much nicer sight than Pandora’s ugly, scarred surface. “Do you guys get sent off on those missions very often?”

“Mm. I know one of the newer doubles got sent to Pandora a couple weeks ago. The only thing that made it back was his Jack-mask.” Tim steals one of Rhys’ mini-donuts, evading Rhys’ attempts at defense easily enough. “God, these are good, I should’ve gotten some too.”

“I offered to get you your own box!” Rhys holds his mini-donuts close to his chest, and gives Tim the stink-eye. “And wait, you mean you guys can _die_ on those missions?” There’s an unwieldy feeling rising up in his throat. He chalks it up to the loss of his donuts.

“Well, it doesn’t happen too often. Usually to the newer ones. Jack likes to send them on the hardest missions of all, thinks it’s some kind of _baptism by fire_ or something.” Tim doesn’t seem too concerned about the danger his and John’s lives are in, but rather more interested in eyeing Rhys’ box of mini-donuts.

“But- you’re safe? You and John, you guys won’t get sent on those really hard missions, right?” Rhys gives in, and offers Tim the box. He’s not really hungry anymore, and there’s still dinner to look forward to.

“John?” A look of confusion flashes across Tim’s face, there for barely a second. “Oh, right. John. Uh. Yeah, he’s safe. You don’t have to worry about him.”

“You sure?” Rhys wrinkles his nose. “I don’t remember seeing him around before, so I thought he might’ve been new.”

Tim doesn’t look up from Rhys’ donuts as he says, “Oh, yeah. He uh, just never got shifts at the PP before I guess.”

Rhys leans back against the bench, and lets out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. He watches Tim polish off the donuts and the rest of his schnitzel, grinning at the way crumbs litter Tim’s white shirt. Of all the people he’d expected to be a messy eater, Tim wasn’t one of them.

“That was good,” Tim says once he’s done, with a happy sigh.

“You made it look about a thousand times more delicious than it actually was.” Rhys reaches forward, and brushes some of the crumbs off Tim’s chest for him. Tim doesn’t stop him, just gives Rhys a glance that’s a little knowing and a lot sly, and catches his hand after, in a grip that’s loose enough that it’s not really hand-holding, though Rhys wishes it were. “Never figured you for the junk food type.”

“It’s the muscles, isn’t it.” Tim flexes, and grins when Rhys swallows audibly.

“Maybe,” Rhys says, and takes his hand back before he can embarrass himself further. “C’mon, we should get going if we wanna make it on time.”

\---

Dinner is _amazing_.

The maître d’ greets them by name, and Rhys doesn’t even get a chance to look at the menu because _apparently_ the chef has come up with a personalised menu for them. Rhys doesn’t even remember what he eats, it all just goes by in a blur. The only thing that he can recall with vivid clarity is the steak, the meat so tender it practically melts in his mouth. There’s alcohol to go with the food, something Rhys doesn’t know the name of, and which goes down with a sweet, dizzying burn.

Tim doesn’t even let Rhys try to pay for his share of the meal, just stands up at the end of the meal and offers Rhys a hand up.

“It’s all taken care of,” he says, which might be the sexiest thing Rhys has ever heard. And that includes that time his boss had given him a year end bonus that was about as big as his annual salary.

It’s chilly outside when they leave, and Tim slings an arm around Rhys’ shoulders, casually familiar in a way that Rhys is really only used to with Vaughn. Rhys, flushed with alcohol and the best food he’s ever had in his life, can’t help but lean into Tim’s warmth.

They walk back towards Rhys’ apartment, stumbling a little beneath the weight of all those glasses of wine. Rhys laughs breathlessly when Tim tries to sync his footsteps up with Rhys’, in some bizarre three-legged race of sorts, and ends up tripping into a puddle.

“You laugh now,” Tim says, arm heavy around Rhys’ neck as he hauls himself up. “But I’ll have you know, I’m a champion when it comes to three-legged races.”

Rhys snorts at the mental image of Tim with his leg tied to another person’s. Maybe John’s. “What, you doubles do these kinda races often?”

Tim makes a little wheezing sound as his arm tightens almost painfully around Rhys’ neck. “Maybe, maybe not,” he says, sounding a little strangled. “Bet you’d like to watch though.”

Rhys doesn’t bother trying to deny it.

They continue on in companionable silence, Tim’s arm warm around Rhys. It’s been nice, the evening they’ve had together. Rhys doesn’t really hang out with many people other than Vaughn and Yvette, outside of work. It’s a pleasant change, to talk to someone without measuring every word, trying to read between the lines and into unspoken debts and balances.

Given the chance, Rhys thinks, he and Tim could be really good friends.

That’s the problem though. Friends.

Rhys likes Tim, he really does, but somehow, as the evening had wound down, he finds himself drawn more to Tim in the same way he’s drawn to Vaughn. It’s...somehow both disappointing, and a relief at once.

“So,” Tim says, as they come to a halt in front of Rhys’ apartment.

The warm arm around Rhys’ shoulder drops, leaving him feeling colder than the night air warrants. He steps back, making space between himself and Tim.

“This was fun.” Tim’s watching Rhys, something soft in his gaze. “But…”

“Next time, wanna just hang out and watch a movie or something? Vaughn and I have been meaning to do a bro marathon sometime soon.” Rhys offers, smiling past the twinge in his chest. It gets easier when Tim laughs, and reaches out to ruffle Rhys’ hair. Tim’s returning grin is warm, and Rhys thinks this might be good, too.

“Sounds good.” Tim takes a step back, eyes lingering on Rhys. His hands are in his pockets, and his shoulders look really broad in his white t-shirt. “See you around, Rhys.”

Rhys waves him off, and turns to head into his apartment building. He doesn’t look back to see if Tim waited to see him in, but heads straight for the elevator. Vaughn is, thankfully, already asleep, so Rhys makes his way through a darkened apartment and straight to bed, already pulling his clothes off as he goes.

He leaves his blue sweater on the floor.

\---

In the aftermath of the date, Rhys Wallows, with a capital W, and he’s not ashamed to admit it.

Things aren’t helped by the fact that he falls sick, two days after the horribly, perfectly platonic date with Tim. So not only does he feel emotionally terrible, he feels physically crap to go with it. There’s a lot of ice cream and lying around in bed groaning piteously over the next few days.

Okay, possibly closer to a week instead of a few days.

Vaughn is solicitous and sympathetic for the first day, but by the third, has taken to ignoring Rhys’ whining with what Rhys feels is unnecessary stoicism.

It’s bad enough that neither Tim nor John are interested in him, but to be betrayed by his best bro is quite possibly the last straw, Rhys thinks, as he sinks deeper into the hot water of his tiny bathtub. He contemplates finding a shuttle and defecting to Maliwan, where he won’t know anybody, and there won’t be any Pleasure Palace or Handsome Jack body doubles, but at least he won’t embarrass himself thinking he had a chance with anybody as hot as Jack and his doubles.

“Rhys? Are you done yet? I need to shave.”

Vaughn’s impatient voice is accompanied by a series of knocks on the bathroom door.

Scowling, Rhys sinks deeper into the tub, letting the water cover his head. It’s irrationally petty, but he tells himself that Vaughn can go a day without shaving. Hell, he’d probably look better with more facial hair than the chin patch. Maybe even a full on beard. People who could grow a beard, but didn’t, like Vaughn (and unlike Rhys), were probably beard traitors of some kind.

When he emerges from the water, Vaughn’s no longer tapping at the door. Rhys counts that as a victory. It’s not much of one, considering he’s still sad and lonely and sick in the bathtub, but at least he has the place to himself.

The water eventually cools to tepidness, and Rhys reluctantly pulls the plug on the drain. He watches the water swirl down the drain, and morosely thinks about how it reflects all his dreams and ambitions.

It’s maybe a little melodramatic, but he feels he’s entitled to it. After all, he’s just been effectively rejected by two hot men.

If he’s being honest, it’s not like he’d expected his sessions at the Pleasure Palace to be a surefire way to find a boyfriend or anything. It had been a pleasant diversion, a hobby. Like how Vaughn collected figurines, or Yvette and her spa days. Something fun and enjoyable to break up the monotony of climbing the corporate ladder.

Only- he’d really thought there had been something there. Between him and John, at least.

It _definitely_ didn’t help that, thanks to his membership discount, his sessions with John had been nearly every week. It’s the most frequent sex he’s had in his life, and now that he thinks about it, the physical contact had probably deluded him into thinking there was more there than just a transaction.

Rhys stands at the sink, and reaches out to wipe at the fogged up mirror. He makes a face at what he sees there. He’s still sick, and it shows.

His face is paler than normal, the steam in the bathroom giving his skin an almost waxy cast. The bags under his eyes are _incredibly_ unattractive, and if he could be bothered to give a damn, he would be horrified at how ungroomed his eyebrows are by now. Coupled with the weight he’s lost during his illness, the overall impression is of a corpse, and not even one of the sexy, vampiric variety from romance novels.

“No wonder John and Tim aren’t interested in you,” he tells his reflection, wrinkling his nose. It alleviates some of that corpse resemblance, but does nothing for how ghastly he looks.

Staring at his reflection, he comes to a conclusion. The entire membership with the Pleasure Palace has been a mistake. Stupid of him to think that indulging his crush on his company’s CEO was a good idea. Plus, how many times had Vaughn pointed out to him the giant chunk it took out of his budget?

Even with the discount, it’s still money that can be put to better use, like bribing Henderson when promotion season starts, and Rhys has been spending it on _sex_ all this while. Good sex, and the pretense of having a relationship with someone far beyond his league, but still.

It’s time to put an end to this frivolity.

“No more,” he tells his reflection, and is somewhat pleased at how determined he looks. It’s a flattering expression, one he should probably practice more often. “From now onwards, nothing is going to distract you from work.”

He eyes himself, and then, because he’s not that much of a liar, even to himself, adds, “and ice cream.”


	7. Chapter 7 - Jack

Contrary to popular belief and bandit propaganda down on Pandora, Jack isn’t an entirely terrible boss. All he demands is competence, timeliness, and for people to do the jobs they’re paid for. Unfortunately, these three qualities seem to be in short supply individually, let alone all together.

“We can...bump the production schedule up by a week if we divert resources from the Elpis project?”

The Slag-Organics rep standing in front of his desk looks like he’s about to piss his pants. Normally, Jack would find that _hilarious_ , but when SO-R&D is three _weeks_ behind on slag explosive weaponry and have nothing but a knock-kneed, pimply rep with yet more fucking blueprint proposals to show for it, even peed pants aren’t gonna make him laugh.

“A week.”

“Yes...sir?”

Jack exhales, and counts to ten. He makes it to three before flinging the paperweight that had once been Tassiter’s goatee into the rep’s hideous, pockmark-ridden face.

“Get out,” he snarls, and stands when it looked like the rep is going to argue. “Out!”

Once he has the office to himself again, he sits back down, slumping into his chair with a groan of frustration.

Over the past few weeks, it’s felt like every single department in Hyperion has been trying to one-up each other in terms of incompetency. Jack is sick and tired of it, and if it weren’t for how expensive it’d be, he would’ve airlocked every single person on Helios and brought in new recruits from their training centers across the Edens. He's already airlocked an entire floor of completely incompetent researchers.

Is that excessive? Probably not, given the sheer incompetence everyone around him has demonstrated recently. He loses a good half hour or so daydreaming about how good it would feel to airlock everybody, starting with all the heads of departments. The mental image of all their bodies floating past his window makes him smile.

The sound of his comm beeping jerks him unwillingly back to the present, and he sits up with a grimace, ready to fling his comm and whoever’s on the other end of the line right out the first airlock. His irritation drains out of him almost immediately, however, when he sees the name on the caller ID.

He lets the call through immediately, all dreams of murder gone right out the airlock as the face of the pretty receptionist from the Pleasure Palace appears on his screen.

“Handsome Jack, sir?” The receptionist looks like she’s about to cry, for some reason.

“Yeah, what is it?” Jack tries to sound as casual as possible, and not like he’s been yelling at people all day. The small, bright yellow stress ball Nisha had given him as a joke catches his eye, and he picks it up, squeezing it. How the hell this is supposed to relieve stress, he doesn’t know, but it feels nice enough to squeeze, he supposes.

“It’s about that customer you asked us to keep tabs on...Mr. Albrich, sir.”

“Yeah, what about him?” Jack asks.

“Um. You wanted updates on--”

“Yeah, I know.” Jack cuts her off, what little goodwill and patience he’d gotten from seeing the Pleasure Palace’s number already beginning to whittle thin. “You have an update for me?”

“Yes, sir. Mr Albrich called us earlier to terminate his membership.” The receptionist’s voice gets faint and squeaky towards the end, and Jack almost doesn’t catch what she was saying.

“What.”

“Mr. Albrich.” The receptionist clears her throat, and tries again. “Mr. Albrich has terminated his membership with us.”

Jack stares at the terrified looking receptionist’s face, trying to look for signs that this is some terrible, tasteless joke.

“Are you kidding me,” he says flatly. When her lips actually start trembling, he huffs out an irritated sigh, and waves his hand. “Fine. Whatever. Thanks for the update.”

He cuts off the call without waiting for a response. Rhys had terminated his membership at the Pleasure Palace. After _weeks_ without calling in for a session with Jack. The last one had actually been..on...his birthday.

After which, Jack had given Tim Rhys’ number, and the two of them had gone on a date.

He doesn’t realise he’s popped his stress ball until the small plastic beads begin to spill over his hand.

\---

Over the next few days, Jack finds himself thinking of what Rhys and Tim might be up to. Going on more stupid dates, probably. Though Tim has returned Jack’s card, the doubles are paid well enough that he could probably afford to take Rhys out to nice places on the regular.

It annoys Jack, to think that Rhys and Tim get on so well that Rhys doesn’t want to book sessions with Jack anymore. The fact that it annoys him only annoys him even more, though. Rhys is a _nobody_ , not even very high up on the Hyperion corporate ladder. If it hadn’t been for their accidental meeting in the Pleasure Palace, Jack would never have heard of him. For Jack to be annoyed by someone so inconsequential feels like some kind of cosmic joke of some sort.

Scowling, Jack calls up Rhys’ profile on the Hyperion network. Seeing Rhys’ face in his photograph makes him snort; in his picture, Rhys has a stilted, frozen expression that’s half-sneer, half-smile, all-stupid. The effect is more endearing than Jack would like.

The signal for an incoming call comes in, interrupting his thoughts. Tim’s picture appears, replacing Rhys’ on Jack’s screen. Jack quashes the petty urge to reject the call, and accepts it.

“Hey.” Tim’s real face appears. He looks dirty, grimy, exhausted and definitely not like he’s on Helios going on dates with Rhys. It’s curious enough that Jack can’t help but squint suspiciously. “So the Promethea trail went dead somewhere around the eighth abandoned facility, but I think I found signs that Atlas tampered with the wildlife on--”

“You’re on Promethea?” Jack interrupts him, overriding Tim’s report.

“Uh.” Tim blinks at him, brows furrowed. “Yeah? That’s my job, Jack. The job you gave me.”

“I know what job I gave you,” Jack snaps. “But I thought you were on Helios.”

Tim gives him a look like he’s an idiot. It’s a good look, and one that Jack himself has used very often, but Jack does _not_ appreciate being on the receiving end of it.

“Why would I be on Helios?” Tim asks. He tilts the camera of his ECHOtab pointedly, showing the ugly Promethean landscape behind him.

“Well, well.” Jack eyes Tim, tamping down the little spurt of irrational irritation at Tim’s competence and dedication to the job. It would’ve made him feel a lot better about being annoyed at Tim, if Tim had been ditching his job to play hooky with Rhys. “If only everyone were as hardworking as you are.”

The idiot-look intensifies.

“You’re paying me to be here,” Tim says. “Not to be on Helios. I haven’t even been back there in weeks.”

Jack squints at Tim, suspicion rising. Is Tim really that hard-working? Hard-working enough to ditch the cute piece of ass he’s just started dating to go on lonely missions out to Promethea?

Tim continues, ignoring Jack’s speculative look. “If I were back on Helios, I wouldn’t be covered in mud and slime and god knows what else is on this crapsack planet.” A dreamy look crosses his face, and Jack thinks, here we go, he’s going to mention Rhys.

But then all Tim says is, “I could have a _hot shower_.”

“What about Rhys?” Jack asks, the words coming out before he could stop them. But really, a shower, over Rhys? Surely the mud down on Promethea isn’t _that_ bad.

“Uh.” Tim narrowed his eyes at Jack. “What’s Rhys got to do with…”

At the dawning realisation on Tim’s face, Jack suddenly has a feeling that he’s missed something really obvious. Something that Tim, going by the expression on his face, already knows.

“I’m not dating Rhys,” Tim says, with exaggerated patience. “But you clearly want to. I don’t know what’s gone on between the two of you since Rhys’ birthday session, but I haven’t seen him since that one date, where he spent the entire time talking about _you_. Or, well, talking about John.”

Jack sits up in his seat, attention suddenly very focused on what Tim was saying. “You guys aren’t…”

“Nope. We’ve texted a couple times since, but mostly about movies.” Tim gives Jack a judgmental look. “And you.”

“Then why hasn’t he called to book a session since then?” Jack demands, not caring that Tim is giving him a smug, knowing look, or that any plausible deniability about his goddamn crush on a lowly peon has just gone out the window.

The smugness on Tim’s face evaporates, turning all too quickly into exasperation.

“I don’t know, Jack, because I’m not Rhys.” Tim rubs at the bridge of his nose, and then sighs and continues, sounding very tired. “Maybe he thought you weren’t interested, because you never asked him out on a date.”

Jack stares at him.

“After all, if I could ask him on a date, you could too.” Tim raises his eyebrows at Jack pointedly. “Wouldn’t kill you to use your words every once in awhile. Though I did appreciate the dinner reservations.”

Scowling, Jack hangs up on him.

\---

Twenty minutes later, the doors of Jack’s office opens, and Rhys steps in. Jack watches, hands crossed beneath his chin as he sits at his desk, as Rhys walks nervously into the office, and towards Jack’s desk.

“Handsome Jack, sir?”

Jack doesn’t answer, partly because he likes how nervous Rhys looks, and partly because he’s eyeing Rhys over, trying to see if he’s changed over the past couple weeks.

Rhys looks...tired. Like he’s lost some weight, and hasn’t managed to put it back on. It’s weird, seeing Rhys in clothes. Jack has grown used to seeing Rhys either naked, or soon-to-be naked, and seeing him fully clothed is like a jolt to the system.

The skinny red tie around his neck, when not used as a restraint, looks incredibly stupid.

“Wait...John?”

Rhys, now standing on the other side of the desk, squints, and then all of a sudden, the tension and nervousness in his body seems to wash away. He laughs, and braced himself on the edge of Jack’s desk, shockingly casual.

“Oh my god, it’s _you_ , John. I thought I was getting called in here to get airlocked by Handsome Jack or something.”

Jack opens his mouth, and then shuts it again, caught off guard. How, after being summoned to Jack’s office, does Rhys _still not realise_?

Oblivious to Jack’s befuddlement, Rhys continues to talk, craning his head to look around the office with bright, curious eyes. “I’ve been to the Pleasure Palace recreation of this place, but woah, it just _feels_ different up here, huh?”

“That’s because it’s the real deal,” Jack says, the pride he held in his office coming out automatically, taking over his complete disbelief that Rhys still, _still_ hasn’t realised.

“It’s amazing.” Rhys sighs, and turns back to face Jack. “So, what are you doing up here? Are you taking over for Handsome Jack or something while he’s out of the office?”

Jack wants to pull Rhys over his desk, to show him that he is Handsome Jack. Jack wants to see how Rhys will react, if he’ll stutter, if he’ll turn red in the face, if he’ll faint.

More than anything though, Jack wants to kiss Rhys, to see if he tastes as good as Jack remembers. He wants to pull Rhys against his body, run his hands down his back and feel the line of Rhys’ spine against his fingers. He wants to press the pad of his thumb against Rhys’ throat, feel the thrum of his pulse beneath the thin skin there beneath his thumb, and then his tongue.

He wants many, many things.

Instead, what comes out of his mouth is, “I heard you cancelled your membership at the Pleasure Palace.”

Rhys freezes. His face, mobile and expressive as ever, clouds over with an emotion that Jack can’t quite read. He taps at Jack’s desk with his mechanical fingers, the clicking taps loud in the quiet office.

“I thought…I didn’t want to get my hopes up,” Rhys says eventually, and looks away from Jack. “I mean. Paying money every week to have sex with someone who’s only interested in you as a client...I didn’t want to become _that_ guy, you know?”

“That’s stupid,” Jack says flatly. “I gave you discounts. I shuffled my timetable to meet you, and you thought I was only interested in you as a _client_?”

Rhys flushes, cheeks pinking as he glares at Jack, lips pursing in an indignant pout that Jack really, _really_ wants to kiss off him. He steps around the desk, getting closer to Jack as he argues, voice hot with indignation. “How was I to know?! I thought you just liked me as a customer! And- and! Tim asked me out on a date, but you didn’t, so- so I assumed you--”

“Wow, that’s dumb.” Jack interrupts Rhys, rubbing at his own face as he exhales. He can feel laughter bubbling up in his chest, warm and stupidly pleasant. “I can’t believe…” He trails off, not entirely willing to finish that sentence.

“It made sense when I was thinking about it!”

When Jack looks up, Rhys is standing next to his desk, arms folded and scowling down at Jack. This close, Jack can smell Rhys’ hair gel. It annoys him, how much he _still_ wants to sink his hands into Rhys’ hair despite knowing that his hands will end up covered in product.

“Plus,” Rhys continues, sniffing pointedly. “I need to start saving more money, if I ever want to bribe my way into a promotion over my rival.”

Jack thinks about talking things out like Tim said, about getting things cleared up, but dismisses all of that in favour of standing up to crowd Rhys up against his desk. Rhys goes willingly enough, head tilted, giving Jack a sidelong glance from beneath his lashes in a way that makes Jack smile.

“You know,” Jack says, unable to resist the urge to lean in, to nudge his nose against the pale line of Rhys’ throat. “There are more ways than one to get a promotion.”

Rhys laughs, the sound washing through Jack like the sweetest liquor. He leans back a little, exposing the pale length of his neck. The _minx_. Jack can’t help his appreciative hum, or the way he presses in closer, wanting to feel as much of Rhys’ body against his own as possible.

“Oh? Do you have any suggestions, sir? I’m ready to...take anything you give me.” Rhys lowers his gaze, and bites his lip. The line is taken straight out of a porno that Jack _knows_ Rhys has seen.

It had been Rhys’ idea, to fuck while watching a porno and to try and match the timing of their orgasms. It hadn’t worked too well, because Rhys had gotten carried away while riding Jack, but that had been fun.

Screw talking, Jack decides, as he reaches down to palm at where Rhys is already half-hard. Talking can wait. Right now, he has Rhys, who’s grinning at him with his lower lip caught between his teeth, and a desk that’s at the perfect height for fucking.


	8. Chapter 8 - Rhys

Rhys is half convinced he’s dreaming. A hallucination, born out of weeks of having nothing but his hand to orgasm to. After all, there’s no way he’s in _Handsome Jack’s office_ , having sex with his favourite body double, right?

“Lift your leg higher, that’s it kiddo, _fuck_ , you’re tight.” John’s voice is rough, and so are the hands on his hips that tug him back, pull him down onto John’s cock.

“Yeah, yeah, c’mon, harder.” Rhys moans, scrabbling at Jack’s desk (Jack’s desk!!) as he pushes back, trying to get the perfect angle. When it hits, he makes a delighted sound, and thrusts back against John, demanding _more_.

John laughs, a short, breathless sound behind him. “Pushy,” he says, though he sounds more fond than anything.

Rhys doesn’t answer, though he does look over his shoulder to exchange a grin with John. He feels- ridiculously, deliriously happy. It’s a nice feeling, one he wants to clutch to his chest and never let go, cliche as it sounds.

John is interested in him! Rhys hadn’t been wrong about the connection between them! John had called him up here, and now Rhys is getting to fulfil one of his biggest sexual fantasies, here over the desk of the man he’s idolised since college.

It doesn’t even matter that John’s a double of Jack. Rhys is beginning to think that he might actually prefer the familiarity of John to the reality of what Handsome Jack might be like. It’s a strange thing to admit, even to himself, but he’s pretty sure it counts as character development.

He turns, intending to tell John about this revelation, when there’s suddenly a chime that rings through the office, and he freezes.

“Uh.”

Behind him, John doesn’t stop fucking into Rhys, even as Rhys frantically slaps at the muscled arms around him, and hisses for John to _get up, holy shit we’re about to get caught!_

“Come in,” John calls out, still kind of breathless, and jabs at a button on the desk, not too far from Rhys’ head.

“What are you _doing_ ,” Rhys moans, terror running cold throughout his blood as he scrambles, brings his leg down from the desk and keeps trying to shove John away, though that last bit is rather unsuccessful, because John is heavy and solid against Rhys’ back.

Everybody on Helios knows about what a shitty mood Handsome Jack has been in lately. The entire twenty-third floor of the north wing had been vented out to cold space when Jack had lost his temper. Rumours were that some bandits down on Pandora had taken over one of Hyperion’s settlements. Alternate rumours attested that someone down in R&D had blown up a project that had taken months to get started. Nobody knew the truth, but everybody had their theories.

So as Rhys lies there, John’s body warm against his back and the terror flooding his body making the desk beneath him feel very, very cold, he sends up a prayer to whatever gods are out there that he at least gets to say goodbye to Vaughn before he dies.

“Sir, I just--” The man that enters the office cuts himself off, and his eyes practically bug out of his head as he stares at them.

“What is it?” John says, voice far too casual for how he’s _still fucking Rhys_. “Get on with it, can’t you see I’m busy here?”

Realisation hits him, an icy cold wash that _burns_. Rhys whines and buries his head in his arms, unable to look up. His face feels like it’s burning, and he’s still hard, to his own mortification. His traitorous cock twitches when John thrusts in again.

Except, this isn’t John.

It’s never been John, it’s _Handsome fucking Jack_ who’s currently balls deep in Rhys, and Rhys doesn’t think he’s ever been so terrified and turned on in his life before.

John- no, Jack. Jack laughs, and reaches down to cup a hand around Rhys’ neck, pulling him upright. He’s still got his shirt on, so he’s not technically naked, but as he’s forced to look up, he sure as fuck feels like it. He makes eye contact with the man standing at the entrance of the office, despite himself.

The wide-eyed man blinks once, twice, and then his gaze shifts over Rhys’ shoulder to Jack, and changes entirely, into something cold and sharp that turns the terror in Rhys’ gut into something more concrete.

“Lucky I have more than one bullet,” he says, and brings a gun up. "This is for Amelia, you bastard."

“Jo--” Rhys opens his mouth to say, instinctively straightening up and reaching back to- he doesn’t know, push John further behind him or something equally useless.

Before he can though, one of John’s- Jack’s arms comes up next to his head, and between one breath and the next, a shot rings out, too close to his ear to be from the assassin. The would-be assassin takes half a step forward before he crumples, momentum making him fall forward onto his face.

“Fuck!” Rhys says, and then says it again for good measure. His ear is still ringing, leaving him dizzy and feeling like nothing is quite real.

Behind him, Jack bends down, pushing Rhys with him until Rhys is flat against the table again, and drops the gun. It clatters to the table in front of Rhys’ face. Rhys flinches back from it instinctively, but he’s got nowhere to go, trapped beneath Jack’s body.

“Ohh, Rhysie,” Jack exhales, and grunts, slamming into Rhys harder, more intent behind his thrusts. “Were you going to protect me from that guy?”

Rhys doesn’t answer, adrenaline still thrumming through his body and mixing with the arousal to create a dizzying, unreal feeling to everything. His lack of an answer doesn’t seem to faze Jack though.

“Every time, you surprise me,” Jack groans, sounding half-frustrated and half-fond. “God, Rhys. _Rhys_.”

Rhys has a fleeting, wild thought that _holy shit_ he can tell when _Handsome Jack_ is coming just from how the sound of his breathing and the way his arms tighten around Rhys, possessive and demanding all at once. It’s a terrifying, dizzying thought.

Eventually though, Jack pulls away with a sigh. Rhys’ back feels very cold all of a sudden.

“God, that was good,” Jack says, and steps around the side of the desk to stride over to the dead assassin, tucking himself back into his trousers as he goes. “This guy though...These idiots always pop up whenever I airlock someone, trying to get revenge or something. You'd think they'd learn that it _doesn't work_. Ugh.”

Jack nudges the assassin’s body over with a none too gentle boot to the head, and grimaces before tapping at a small device on his wrist. “Hey, janitor guys,” he says, as he starts walking back to where Rhys is still frozen over Jack’s desk. “Send somebody to clean this crap up, and get on with it, I don’t want the blood to get stuck on my floor again.”

Rhys watches, terrified and unsure, as Jack stalks towards him, a predatory slant to his slow, deliberate smile. When Jack reaches out and grabs Rhys’ chin, lifting it, Rhys swallows. The click of his throat is very audible in the hush of the office, and Jack’s grin widens.

“Well,” Jack says. His fingers tighten, and his thumb comes up to brush against Rhys’ lower lip, brusque and pushy. “Aren’t you going to come?”

And Rhys does, untouched, as if Jack’s words were all his body had been waiting for. He shudders, eyes sliding half-shut as he comes all over Jack’s desk, entire body tightening up, held in place only by Jack’s hand.

“Atta boy,” Jack breathes out, and leans forward to kiss Rhys. At the first brush of his lips, something in Rhys unlocks, and he scrambles backwards, eyes wide.

Jack’s eyes snap open, and he stares at Rhys, surprise written clearly all over his face.

“I--” Rhys makes half an effort to try and get words out, but then his nerve overwhelms him, and he leans down to grab up his trousers and shoes, and bolts.

He runs past Jack, legs it past the dead body, and slams his shoulder into the door on the way out, but he doesn’t slow down. He clutches his bundle of trousers-and-shoes to his groin as he runs straight down the corridor and into the elevator that’s thankfully waiting there, probably from letting the assassin up. 

When Rhys glances over his painfully throbbing shoulder as he steps into the elevator, Jack’s office door is open, but there’s nobody there.

He dresses with shaky hands as the elevator’s doors begin to close, tucking his dick into his trousers with a muffled curse as he realises that he’d left his underwear in Jack’s office.

Jack’s office. Handsome Jack’s office.

“Oh god,” Rhys mumbles, and slumps against the back of the elevator, hands pressed to his cheeks as he tries to take deep breath after deep breath. “I’m gonna _die_.”


	9. Chapter 9 - Jack

Jack doesn’t consider himself a guy who’s often caught off guard. He has plans, and backup plans, and backup-backup plans. Paranoia and his conviction that 95% of the people around him are complete idiots lends itself to over-preparedness, and it hasn’t failed him so far.

Rhys bolting out of his office? Had _not_ been in any of his plans.

Had been so far out of his plans-upon-plans that Jack actually finds himself blinking like an idiot at the open office doors for a full minute. Then his mind kicks back into gear, and he snarls, and heads after Rhys, hearing the thud of his deliberate footsteps with a kind of muted, distant clarity.

As he strides towards the doors, he notices Rhys’ underwear, discarded to the side. They’re blue, with yellow stars on them, and the sight of them almost breaks Jack’s concentration.

Jack doesn’t know what exactly he’s planning to do when he finds Rhys, which cements the whole “Rhys being wildly out of his plans for corporate domination” thing. Meeting Rhys, getting _attached_ to Rhys (he’s really, really not looking forward to telling Nisha about this), and then finally, getting bailed on by Rhys. Every frigging thing about Rhys is unexpected. Like getting a splinter while running a hand across a well-worn toy.

And yet here Jack is, going after the dumb idiot.

And yet again, Rhys surprises him.

“What the hell,” Jack says flatly, when the elevator doors open to the sight of Rhys, slumped against the back of the elevator with his hands over his face. He’s mostly clothed, though Jack doesn’t miss how his pants aren’t zipped up properly, and that he’s commando beneath.

“Oh god.” Rhys looks up from his hands, eyes very wide and his face very, very pale. “What- How-- I thought the lift was going _down_.”

They both look over at the elevator’s panel, where the screen is blank.

“I didn’t tell the elevator to go down, did I?” Rhys says, and then groans, covering his face again. “Please make it quick when you kill me.”

“I’m not going to _kill_ you, what are you on about?” Jack asks, exasperated. He jabs at the panel, setting it to hold here indefinitely while he gives in to Tim’s advice and _uses his words_. “Why did you run?”

Rhys makes a faint, wheezing little sound, and doesn’t uncover his face.

“I don’t know,” he says eventually. What little Jack can see of Rhys’ face, beneath his fingers, is slowly turning pink even as Jack watches. “You’re not John, you’re Handsome Jack. Running seemed like a good idea.”

“I thought this was what you _wanted_!” Jack steps closer, and pries Rhys’ hands off his face. “All that talking about how awesome I am, and the first thing you do when you realise I’m _me_ is _run_? Really, pumpkin?”

Rhys’ face is completely red by now, almost as red as his ears are. His hands make an aborted movement, tendons of his wrists flexing in Jack’s grip in a way that’s mildly distracting. And he refuses to meet Jack’s gaze, eyes fixed firmly on Jack’s chest as if he can find an escape there.

There’s a long pause, which Jack spends watching Rhys’ face, greedily taking in every detail. Rhys has definitely lost weight over the past few weeks; his cheekbones are a little more defined, and some of the remaining baby fat on his cheeks is gone, leaving him looking a little older, more tired.

“I told you about my Handsome Jack poster,” Rhys eventually says, embarrassment curling through his voice.

“Yeah,” Jack says, and can’t help but snort fondly at the memory. That had been a good session. “And I made you show me how you jerked off to it. That was fun.”

Rhys makes a mortified little sound, in the back of his throat, and _finally_ looks up to meet Jack’s gaze. His face is very flushed, and Jack kind of wants to press his palms to Rhys’ cheeks, to see if they feel as hot as they look.

“John-- I mean, Jack. Handsome Jack. Sir. I’m...I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were you, and I probably said a lotta stuff that I shouldn’t have, and oh god, I even told you about my boss, and--” Rhys cuts his own rambling off, eyes narrowing in speculation. “Wait, hold on. Did Tim know?”

Jack scowls, unable to help it. Rhys is thinking of Tim? Now? “Yeah.”

“Oh my god. He knew, and he let me just-- keep talking about how you were such a good actor? Really?” Rhys’ embarrassed look fades as indignation takes over.

“You talked to him about me?” Jack says, irritation disappearing in the face of the flattery. Especially when the indignant look on Rhys’ face drops, as if he’s just remembered who he was talking to.

“Uh,” Rhys says, and swallows audibly. He shrugs, and looks away from Jack. His hair has fallen out of its usual gelled mess, from where Jack had held his head in place while they’d kissed, earlier.

Jack reaches up, and brushes an unruly lock back into position. Rhys’ eyes dart up, watching Jack warily. He looks skittish, like he could bolt at any second, and Jack double-checks to make sure that the elevator is going nowhere.

“You...just don’t really have a very good track record with your fanboys.” Rhys shrugs, and a small smile crosses his face. “That’s why the Pleasure Palace does so well.”

“Well, yeah, because they’re all weirdos.”

Rhys flinches at Jack’s words, eyes tightening just a fraction as he looks away again.

“But…” Jack trails off, and runs his hand through Rhys’ hair again, trying to buy some time to figure out what he wants to say. “You’re not...You’re Rhys.”

It’s Jack’s turn to shrug. He lets go of Rhys’ hair, and tried again.

“Okay, look. I had fun, you had fun, and you’re- you have a pretty hilarious face when you come, and I want to keep seeing it, for some godforsaken reason. You also have the weirdest kinks, but I’m more impressed than anything. I keep thinking about our upcoming sessions, and it’s annoying, because I should be _working_ , and all I can think of is if you’ll like the toys I bring, or the scenarios I come up with, and I’m just-- I just want to see more of you. Outside that Pleasure Palace. Hell, I even want to see that damned poster of yours. You know what I mean?”

Rhys is watching Jack now, eyes very wide and lips parted in an expression that almost looks like hope. He doesn’t answer. The silence stretches out long enough that Jack begins to feel the first hot edges of embarrassment creep in.

“Okay, this is your chance to have free sex with the guy of your dreams, aka me. Handsome Jack.” Jack gestures at himself pointedly, trying to talk past the growing embarrassment. “And you’re gonna be speechless. Really?”

Rhys opens his mouth, then shuts it. And then opens it again. Jack watches the movement of his lips with more than a little interest. Specifically, the lower lip, which Jack really, _really_ wants to bite down into right now.

“I didn’t say you were the guy of my dreams,” Rhys finally says, sounding wholly unconvincing. At Jack’s pointed stare, Rhys pouts, actually pouts, but doesn’t try to deny it again.

“Really. Because I’m just saying.” Jack leans in closer, and runs his thumb over the full curve of Rhys’ pouting lower lip, pulling his mouth open a little. Rhys’ breath hitches, and then stops entirely when Jack steals a kiss, making sure to dart his tongue against Rhys’ before pulling back. “You know that fantasy you told me, about getting fucked in my office while looking out at the stars?”

“Everybody has that fantasy,” Rhys says, mouth barely moving beneath Jack’s touch.

“No, no they don’t. They really don’t,” Jack says flatly. “And don’t interrupt me. I was saying, remember that vibrator you showed me? With the prostate stimulator and the electronic pulse pads?”

Rhys shifts, his eyes dilating as he darts a glance down to Jack’s mouth, and then back up again to meet Jack’s gaze. Jack grins, and presses in close, mouth hovering less than an inch from Rhys’.

“I have it in my desk. All I need is someone who wants to try it out with me. So, you coming or what?”

Jack steps back, releasing Rhys with only a little bit of reluctance. He takes another step back, and then another, until Rhys is alone in the elevator.

Rhys, who definitely has a bit of a hard on going on down there, straightens up slowly. Jack watches, resisting the urge to hurry him on. The skittish look from earlier is back on his face, and the last thing Jack wants is to chase him off, not when he’s so close.

When Rhys finally takes a step forwards, towards Jack, Jack doesn’t breathe a sigh of relief or anything. He does, however, reach out to take Rhys by the shoulders.

“We never did properly introduce ourselves to each other, did we?”

“No,” Rhys says, voice very faint.

Jack tightens his grip on Rhys’ shoulders, and watches as Rhys swallowed.

“So. Hey, kiddo. The name’s Jack. Handsome Jack. You may have heard of me.”

Rhys’ voice is barely audible as he answers.

“I’m Rhys, sir.”

His eyes though, are locked onto Jack’s with a look that makes Jack think of hours spent kissing Rhys, of Rhys’ body against his as they fuck on 7000 thread count sheets, or on desks, or against windows, or anything else around them.

In answer, Jack smiles, slow and sharp.

“What say you we get properly acquainted in my office?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all folks :^) hope u enjoyed the ride. come yell w me about dumb space nerds on [tumblr](ssealdog.tumblr.com) if u like.


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